A Way To Smile
by Marci
Summary: Chapter ElevenNewAU BV Bulma is the Princess of a japanese empire and Vegeta is her secret trainer. But what happens when she's captured by her family's greatest adversaries...READREVIEW!
1. Prologue: The Royal Prize

Ok, I figured I should leave the intro the way I had it, but I just wanted to say that I'm revising this fic, after having so much luck with Like A Movie. I hate unfinished stories, which I have a lot of, and so I plan on finishing them all eventually. Have faith my trusty reviewers!  
  
Well this is something totally different for me. It's an AU fic that takes place hundreds of years ago, in the time of dynasties and empires in Japan. In the prologue Bulma is eight years old and Vegeta is eleven. She is a princess and he is already a skilled warrior. I hope you enjoy it!! :D  
  
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Gleaming ebony eyes scanned the lush green courtyard. The night guards would be out now, armed and ready for intruders. A shadowed figure scaled a steep vine covered stonewall with no effort, his lithe muscular body turning and bending with ease. He took another quick look around, then blotted across the lawn, diving into the shadow next to the building. He crept along the wall with his back to it, then stopped and looked around the corner. Everything was silent. Everything was still. But that didn't mean no one was around.  
  
He stepped back slowly, and, all at once, jumped, grabbed the edge of the roof, and hopped up. There were still five more roofs to climb before he reached his destination. It only took him about five minutes to get there, though he could have easily made it in less than two, but he was constantly checking for guards and people moving around on the inside. He reached the right roof, only it was on the wrong side of the building. He sprinted across it and around the corner. Finally he was there; a small balcony, its railings adorned with beautifully detailed carvings and gold trim. He leapt over the short railing, stopping one last time to check for guards, before he proceeded without worries. The doors leading inside were large double doors, painted emerald green with precise gold and forest green designs. Instead of having windows, there were small slits, horizontal along its length. The dark shadowed person took a deep breath before knocking, three times, telling who was inside that it was him.  
  
He listened intently at the doors, pressing his ear to one of them. He could hear some slight rustling, then a less than quiet groan. There was a little more moving around, then it was silent for a moment. He concentrated harder on listening. Nothing. Then suddenly the large double doors swung open, startling him, and he jumped back. Though it was still night, he could make out who the figure that stepped out onto the balcony towards him. A girl, eight years of age, with long aqua hair and bright glimmering blue eyes. "Why do we have to be out this early?" the child whined, rubbing her tired eyes with balled fists. She wore loosely fit black pants, black boots with leather straps that criss-crossed around her leg to her knee, and a baggy white shirt, tied with a beige belt. She was dressed as a man.  
  
"You're the one who wanted to train," he said roughly. He was dressed nearly the same as the young girl. She stepped towards him, and he stepped back, into the moonlight. He was slightly taller than her, about three years older, with raven black hair that flamed up off his head. She'd always thought it was silly, and never failed to let him know.  
  
"No you're the one who offered it to me. How could I say no?" she demanded. "I'm tired," she yawned, blinking her eyes open wider.  
  
"Don't complain to me Onna. You're lucky I'm doing this. I'm doing you a favor."  
  
"Don't call me that!" she yelled softly. If she was caught sneaking out, to train no less, her parents would ban her from leaving the palace until she was old enough to be woed and wed. She was a princess, a lady. Women training to become warriors was unheard of and those who did were not thought highly of. And not only that she was training, but the fact of who she was training with. The son of the most dangerous warrior in the area. It was an odd way they had come to be acquaintances. It had only happened a few months ago. She was taking a stroll by the pond outside the palace. She was all alone, for her parents trusted her as long as she was home safely when they told her to be, and she always was so there was no reason not to trust her.  
  
FLASHBACK:  
  
She was about to take a drink of cool spring water from the stream connected to the pond, when she heard a noise. Immediately she jumped into the water and stayed below for as long as her lungs permitted her to. When she thought whatever had made the noise was finally gone, she poked her head out of the water. Nothing was there. She took a deep breath, looking around one last time, then climbed out of the water. Her gown and hair were completely soaked, making it even more difficult for her to walk. She stood as straight as possible, looking around. Nothing. Whatever it was had left, she reasoned. She rung her dripping hair out with a few tight twists, then proceeded to return to the palace. She made it ten steps, before hearing the noise again. This time she knew she wasn't alone.  
  
She looked up, half expecting to be attacked. She'd been a lot more cautious lately, with the threats on her family from the Yon-Han Empire and all. It was a very rocky time for them. But after scanning the land and trees above, found there was nothing there.  
  
"Stupid birds," she sighed, picking up her pace a little. Soon all the rocks, bushes and grass were speeding by her. She picked up her pace to a run. She didn't know why, but something just wasn't right. Though she couldn't confirm it, something or someone was there.  
  
"I'm no bird," a small, obviously boyish voice snapped. She stopped dead in her tracks. She'd heard the voice, and was terrified, though tried her hardest to remain calm and composed.  
  
"Who's there?" she demanded, turning and facing the direction the voice came from. There was no answer. And for a moment, the forest path was silent. "I said, who's there?" Then slowly, inch-by-inch, a figure emerged from a treetop and jumped to the ground. It was a young boy, not much older than she, with deep black hair that stuck straight up. He was wearing a black warrior's training uniform. "Who are you?" the girl asked, fear completely gone from her voice. He looked completely harmless.  
  
"A warrior," he said, his voice full of noticeable arrogance and pride, placing balled fists on his hips and straightening up. She raised an eyebrow slightly. Clearly he was a member of high society.  
  
"Aren't you a little young?" Her young girlish voice squeaked in comparison to his.  
  
"Of course not," he barked, sounding almost hurt. "Warriors need to start as young as possible if they want to get anywhere." If someone from the outside had been watching their conversation, it would have been quite a sight. Two young children, arguing about fighting. The older of the two acting as though he were the older brother and knew everything, and had to inform the younger sister and make sure she knew he was the boss.  
  
"I'm going to be a great warrior one day," she proclaimed matter-of-factly, puffing herself up.  
  
He simply laughed.  
  
"What's so funny?" she hissed, stepping forward.  
  
"Oh nothing. I just thought I heard you say you were going to be a warrior."  
  
"I did!!" She was beginning to despise this boy.  
  
"You'll be lucky if you even get a chance to train with all your womanly duties," he retorted, crossing his arms, almost insulted.  
  
"Baka!!" she screamed, lunging at him with such force and surprise that he was to the ground. "You take that back!!" He growled at her from the back of his throat, forcefully shoving her off.  
  
"Don't you ever do that to me again!" he yelled, jumping to his feet, glaring down at her. She was soon to her feet as well, feeling the same rage as him.  
  
"What!? Don't denounce me because I'm female!" Her eyes were burning with anger.  
  
He sighed deeply, then looked up at her, his head facing the ground. "Its not because you are a female," he said through clenched teeth. "I just don't see you as a warrior. You don't have any…any…what is it?…spirit." She glared at him, now at the peak of her anger, her fists balled, knuckles white.  
  
"No spirit? No spirit!" She ran at him with such force he was to the ground again, and this time he would have not been able to stop her. "I'll show you spirit!" She brought her arm back, and swung at him, colliding her fist with his cheek. He looked up at her in shock. She'd actually hit him with enough strength that he felt a sting in his cheek.  
  
"Onna…" he sighed. She scowled down at him. "I will train you."  
  
"Don't call me that," she hissed. He was about to say something when she butted in. "Did you just say you'd train me?" He nodded, obviously annoyed. "Why?" she asked with suspicion.  
  
"Because its obvious that you have a fighting spirit," he rolled his eyes, " and definite potential."  
  
"My father forbids me to train…I train myself, which isn't going exactly how I planned..." she babbled on, the young boy drowning her out, picking at his fingernails.  
  
"Done?" he asked, glancing at her. She nodded, a bit embarrassed for carrying on like that. "Alright, I pick the time and place. You will do as I say and only as I say. Is that clear?" She nodded happily, fluttering her girlish lashes at him. He growled in the back of his throat. He was definitely going to regret this.  
  
END FLASHBACK  
  
"Hurry up," he said, grabbing her hand and pulling her over the railing.  
  
"I can do it myself," she hissed matter-of-factly, then jumped from the roof they were on to the next one down. Within moments she was to the ground, though her companion had beaten her there.  
  
"Ok, listen to me. Don't waste anymore time. You have a lot to do before sunrise," he warned, scowling down at her.  
  
"I know that," she spat, crossing her arms over her chest and stomping in the direction of their secret training area. A small secluded field just outside the palace grounds. When they weren't training, she would go alone to think. There was a small brook that ran along some of the field's perimeter and lead to a clear water pond. She'd often swim there in the warm summer months.  
  
"And be quiet," he scolded, grabbing her arm so she wouldn't stray from his sight. If anything happened to her, a price would be put on his head.  
  
"I am being quiet baka."  
  
"Well if we get cau-"  
  
"I know exactly what would happen. And we won't get caught. We've been training for nearly six months now and no one has the slightest idea." For such a young girl she had an extensive and impressive vocabulary. She spoke to adults as though she were one herself. No one talked down to her, with the exception of her trainer, and those who did quickly learned not to. She was a true genius, her parents' most prized possession.  
  
"Yes you know the consequences for yourself. But do you realize what they would do to me?" he asked with a slight hint of nervousness in his voice. He seemed especially edgy lately, which did not go unnoticed by the young princess. But she figured he was having troubles at home, so she wisely stayed off that topic. He wasn't exactly what you'd call a social butterfly.  
  
"Yes I do. But you have nothing to worry about, because we're NOT going to get caught. Why must you tell me this every night?"  
  
"So you'll never forget," he said smugly, pulling her closer to him, so that if someone did hear them he would already have a hold of her and could run as fast as he could.  
  
"Trust me, I won't," she said through clenched teeth. She was tired of him treating her as a child, when she obviously had the intellect of an adult.  
  
The early morning training went on as usual. The children both received sufficient training, though the student had to try harder than the teacher, of course. Then, the same as every morning just before dawn, they had to end their training. The young princess had to be back in bed before sunrise.  
  
"Ok," said the young boy, clasping his hands together as he bowed to his student. "You're improving." She followed suit, bowing to her trainer. "Now we must hurry. If the sun rises the guards will surely see us." He grabbed her hand, and the two jogged swiftly in the direction of the palace.  
  
"Good night Vegeta," she whispered, backing into her room.  
  
"Its morning Onna," he said with a smirk.  
  
"Oh, you know what I meant. Now hurry home before your father catches you out."  
  
"He's not my father."  
  
"Uh! Kami Vegeta! Stop that, just don't get in trouble, alright?"  
  
"Don't worry about me," he said, rolling his eyes. "I'll be back an hour earlier tomorrow." Before she had time to respond he was gone, seemingly without a trace.  
  
"An hour earlier? Kami…" she sighed, pulling the doors shut and latching the lock. She quickly changed into one of her many nightgowns and hid her training clothes under her bed. She unwrapped the ribbon from around her hair, letting it flow well passed her waist. Quickly she splashed some cool water on her face from a bowl near her vanity and then padded it dry with a clothe. Around all, but Vegeta, she was prim and proper and very lady like, the way she was expected to be.  
  
She swiftly yet quietly shuffled across the floor to her bed and slipped under the numerous silk sheets. She sighed deeply, closing her eyes and drifting off into a peaceful slumber.  
  
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"Bulma!" called a muffled woman's voice from outside her chamber. "Bulma its morning!"  
  
"Nani? Uh…" she sighed to herself. It'd only been about two hours since Vegeta had brought her home. She was absolutely not ready for a long day in the life of a princess. "One moment!" she called in the direction of the door. "Alright, I'm up," she said as she opened the door and was face to stomach with her maid.  
  
"Did you sleep well Madame?" she asked in a motherly tone, stepping into her room with a bundle of clothes. "You look tired."  
  
"Oh, I couldn't fall asleep last night…Why do you have those?" Bulma asked with an arched eyebrow, pointing to the bundle in her arms. The clothes were far too fancy for everyday wear.  
  
"Don't tell me you forgot. Your parents are having that gala this afternoon."  
  
"Oh, it must have slipped my mind for a moment." She yawned, then proceeded to her vanity, where her maid followed, setting her clothes on a chair.  
  
"How would you like your hair today, dear?" the older woman asked, as she brushed threw it.  
  
"I don't care. Just keep it out of my face."  
  
"Alright then," she huffed, struggling to brush threw a thick tangle of aqua hair. "I'll put this in to hold it back," she said, holding up a gold plated type of hair band, with several royal blue carved stones and diamonds set in it. It matched her dress perfectly. A deep royal blue number with trimmings of lighter blues and purples. The sleeves were long and loose fitting; they would nearly cover her hands. Around its middle her maid would wrap an ivory colored sash around several times then tie it into a large bow. Her mother, the queen, would be wearing a dress identical to her own, though much more form fitting and the sleeves would hang down off her shoulders.  
  
Finally after about twenty minutes of pulling and fussing with Bulma's hair, the maid was done. It was pulled back tightly out of her eyes into two buns at the back of her head, held together with black chopsticks. The rest of her hair was wrapped once around each bun, then it hung down to her mid back. The few loose strands that would have been in her eyes were pulled back with the gold headband and they now hung along side her face by her ears. Her make-up had also been done. Thick white powder caked her face, her lips were painted a glistening bright red, her eyes were lined with black, and light purples and blues sparkled on her lids. She frowned as she looked in the mirror before her. She looked like a doll. She hated dolls.  
  
Her dress was the next thing to be put on. She liked the colors well enough; they complimented her hair nicely and the sleeves were loose and comfortable. It was the rest of the dress she detested. It fit too snuggly for her liking and when the sash was added, she was short of breath. The whole get up made it very difficult for her to walk, forcing her to take small slow steps. She always complained about it and asked why she couldn't loosen it some. Her maid always would disregard her comments and shrug her questions. She really had no answer to give her.  
  
The last things she had to put on were her jewelry and shoes. The shoes were simple black loosely fit slippers with thick tough soles. Her jewelry, on the other hand, was elaborate and eye-catching. She wore a thick gold necklace that stretched from almost the top of her neck to its bottom. Dangling blue and violet gems hung from it, resting on her collarbone. Her earrings were identical in color and hung down, touching her shoulders when she moved a certain way. She also wore matching bracelets and rings, though her sleeves covered them.  
  
"Stand up so I can look at you," her maid said, rubbing the back of her neck with her hand. "Wonderful…You're beautiful," she sighed with pride and admiration.  
  
"Komii," Bulma said with a deep woeful sigh. Her maid turned to her at the sound of her name. "When is this celebration? And how long will it be?"  
  
"Well, let's see. You have a calligraphy lesson in an hour, then breakfast, then…then the gala begins two hours later. I'd say it will be around six hours. Why do you ask?"  
  
"I was just wondering…May I go to bed right after?"  
  
"Yes dear. Of course you can." Bulma sighed once more. She couldn't wait 'til then. She needed sleep so badly, especially since Vegeta was coming so early.  
  
"Will anyone I know be attending?"  
  
"Hmm…" Komii thought a moment, then shook her head. "No, I'm sorry. I'm afraid I don't know. But don't worry dear, you'll have plenty of fun."  
  
"What? With all those arrogant, avaricious adults? I think I'd rather be a maid," she sneered, sticking her nose in the air prudishly, though she was no prude (Maid is referring to an unmarried woman which is looked down upon, not her maid/nurse).  
  
"Now, now Madame. Don't get in a tiss. You'll find a way to smile." With that said she turned and walked away, quietly shutting the door on her way out.  
  
"Kami," she sighed to herself, she still had an hour to kill while she waited for her lesson. She sighed again, this time longer, then wandered out onto her balcony. The city in the distance looked so simple and humble. She wished so badly that she could be a part of it all. Sure, palace life could be nice at times. But it was all about lessons and schedules, parties and etiquette. While girls her age in the city dreamed of more, she sat on the balcony railing, and dreamed of less. Less commotion, less clutter, and most of all, less publicity. Her and her family were always in the spotlight. Wooers were already beginning to visit the palace for her hand. Though she was far too young to marry, they still came and offered dowries to the king and queen in hopes of marriage in the future. She thought them to be pathetic, needing to buy their wife, instead of earn their love.  
  
Just then, when Bulma was in the midst of her thoughts, she heard a noise. Cocking her head to the side she listened carefully. But before she could figure out what it was, an arm reached out around her waist, pulling her back. She would have screamed bloody murder if the person's other hand had not been covering her mouth. She panicked, flailing her arms about in all directions. Her heart raced. "Shh Onna," whispered a familiar voice in her ear. She ceased her struggling at once and relaxed. At the sight of her calmness she was released. "Now I know that's not how I taught you to react to danger," he said with a smirk.  
  
"Vegeta!" she hissed as quietly as she could. "What are you doing?"  
  
"What are you all dressed up for?" he asked, avoiding her question completely.  
  
"This isn't all too dressy. And I have to go to a ridiculous gala tonight…What are you doing here?"  
  
"I'm not allowed to come see you anymore?"  
  
"No, its just I never see you unless we're training. You look good in the light," she said innocently "Anyway, why are you here?"  
  
"I have to go Onna. I'll see you tonight." Before she could open her mouth he was gone.  
  
"That was odd," she said to herself. She wondered what it had been all about, but shrugged it off. He was far too complicated to figure out.  
  
Vegeta climbed down off the roof, making sure not to be seen by the guards. He trudged miserably through the tiny village to his home. "Don't get attached,"—he remembered his father saying. He sighed deeply. "Good luck Onna."  
  
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"Good night Komii," Bulma yawned, stretching her tired limbs. The gala had been tiring to say the least.  
  
"Good night child," she replied, kissing her forehead lightly then shutting the door. The young girl walked over to her vanity and began to shed the countless pounds of jewelry and clothes. She slipped into her silk nightgown, then crawled into bed and with in seconds was in a deep peaceful dream world. She couldn't wait to see Vegeta in a couple of hours.  
  
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A cloaked figure dashed across the inner courtyard, and to the east wing of the palace. They went unseen by the guards, who were so conveniently taking naps propped against trees and the side of the building. The unknown person snickered inaudibly, dropping a small tube and a few poison darts to the ground. They would most definitely be in trouble for "sleeping" on the job tonight. The figure scaled the building effortlessly and was soon to their destination; the balcony of the princess's bedroom. They took a few cautious steps forward, then removed the hood of their cloak. Long silky black hair flowed well passed their hips. Their eyes, also black, shimmered in the moonlight. The figure was a woman, and a very well known woman at that. She was an extremely dangerous and ill-tempered assassin for the Yon-Han Empire, King Briefs greatest adversary. But, unfortunately for the Briefs', the Dark Princess as she was called, was well known for her cruelty among her people, not her warrior abilities. The famous and ruthless assassin was always thought to be a man, and so she was never caught. Only few knew the true identity of the Black Dragon.  
  
"Princess," she whispered in Bulma's ear. Her eyes fluttered open wearily and by the time she realized there was a stranger in her room, it was too late. She'd been knocked unconscious with a quick blow to the back of the neck. "How naive you were to take a stranger as your master," she cooed at the unconscious figure in her arms, an evil smirk stretched across her features. "Master Vegeta did his job well."  
  
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---Prologue/Chapter One complete and revised! Woo! I like this a lot better than the original. I wrote it so long ago. It was one of my first fics, and I really hated how I wrote it—I was such a bad writer then :P But I'm proud of it now. Hopefully you'll like it too! :) Revised Chapter 2 will be out very shortly.  
  
REVIEW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (ReviewsMore Chapters)  
  
Next time: Chapter 2 in all its glory :P  
  
Note: I know I have a lot of fics out right now that I'm working on. The thing is that I have writer's block on a few, and they're very near the end, so I figured doing others was a good idea. 


	2. Identities Revealed

Last time:  
  
"Princess," she whispered in Bulma's ear. Her eyes fluttered open wearily and by the time she realized there was a stranger in her room, it was too late. She'd been knocked unconscious with a quick blow to the back of the neck. "How naive you were to take a stranger as your master," she cooed at the unconscious figure in her arms, an evil smirk stretched across her features. "Master Vegeta did his job well."  
  
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Eight years later:  
  
Radiant golden sunlight peered in through the open window, invading the young Princess's sleep. Her deep blue eyes flickered open, and a low groan escaped her lips. She sat up abruptly, pulling her blankets off, and swinging her legs over the edge of the bed. Her unusual aqua hair flowed the length of her back, a tangled mess from the night's sleep. She trudged across the wooden floor and out her bedroom, into the hall. Yawning deeply, she proceeded down the hall, though didn't make it very far before her maid noticed her. "Nyoko! Get back into your room this instant!" she scolded, pointing towards her room.  
  
"Gomen, Aneko," the Princess huffed, stomping back to her room.  
  
"You know better than to walk around the palace like that," Aneko sighed once behind closed doors. "You know very well what your parents would say."  
  
"Gomen," she sighed, taking a seat at her corner vanity. "Its not like they're my real parents though." She looked up at her maid for sympathy.  
  
"Bite your tongue! Just because they're not your birth parents does not mean the king and queen do not deserve your respect!" she snapped viciously. "And love," she finished in a whisper.  
  
"Gomen," she said for the third time that morning, looking down at her hands. "Its just I feel like I don't belong here. Like there's some other place I should be. Do you know what I mean?" Aneko stiffened suddenly at her words.  
  
"Umm…No child, I'm afraid I don't." She relaxed again, picking up a soft bristled brush to untangle the Princess's many knots. "Ok, how would you like your hair today?"  
  
"Anything but black," she sneered, glaring at Aneko through the mirror.  
  
"Oh, my dear. You know very well that you must wear your black wig at all times outside your chambers." "But why? No one ever tells me why. None of the other women in the palace have to wear them. I love my hair. Not this ratty old thing," she huffed, shoving the wig off the vanity table.  
  
"You will understand, Nyoko," Aneko sighed solemnly, retrieving the fallen hair accessory. "You will…someday…" The Princess only gave her an odd look, then sighed inwardly, straightening her posture to tell her maid she was ready to be made up for the day. Her questions were never answered.  
  
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"Nyoko," her "mother" as she walked into the garden, where she knew her daughter would be.  
  
"Yes mother," the girl replayed rather viciously. The two of them rarely got along with one another, if at all, their encounters usually ending with the king's interference.  
  
"Your father and I would like to have a word with you, immediately," the older woman with natural black hair said in a fake loving tone. She didn't question the fact that it was her mother retrieving her instead of a servant; with Aneko she hardly got answers, with the queen she NEVER did.  
  
"Oh right away. Just let me finish what I'm doing," the Princess replied sarcastically, obviously having been doing nothing but sitting in the garden thinking. The queen only glared at her supposed daughter, then trudged away angrily, knowing she'd follow eventually. "Kami!" she snarled, slamming her fists on the stone bench she'd been sitting on, then stood and stomped towards the throne room where her "parents" would be waiting for her.  
  
"Nyoko darling," the king greeted her with a warm smile, arms spread for an awaiting hug, that of which he never received. The Princess walked swiftly passed him and sat on her throne, an exact miniature of the queen's. its not that she didn't love her adopted father, on the contrary she loved him never much, but showing weakness in front of the queen was not something the Princess let herself do.  
  
"Father," she hissed, sitting up as straight and lady like as she could, while still mocking her mother. "You would like to have a word with me?" Her tone was rough, though softened some.  
  
"Yes dear," he sighed apprehensively, while Queen Akuma smiled happily. "You are, as you know, sixteen years of age…" He hesitated a moment, trying to find just the right words.  
  
"Its time for you to be wooed, wed, and out of our hair," Akuma said, her smile even wider as before.  
  
"Wife!" King Hiroshi snapped. "I was going to let her down gently!"  
  
"Don't play innocent Hiroshi!" the queen retorted angrily. "This was your decision! Not mine!"  
  
"You know very well that all girls of sixteen must be wed before their seventeenth year! I simply brought the matter to your attention!" "Wait! The matter? I'm not something that is to be bought or sold!" the Princess yelled, jumping from the throne.  
  
"You are a woman! You are here to wed a wealthy man! His dowry goes to us! Our kingdom continues! When Tadao (The king and queen's birth son and the Prince) is of age he will bring a wealthy Princess into the bloodline! It will continue on like this forever! Nothing ever changes!" Queen Akuma howled, the vain in her forehead throbbing intensely. "You are nothing more than a business tool," she spat, snubbing her nose at the Princess.  
  
"Why even have me here at all? What's the purpose in having a Princess that isn't your own daughter!" she screamed at the top of her lungs, ripping her wig off and throwing it as far as it would go. Everyone in the room gasped. The king, queen, and the Princess's maid were the only ones who knew she was adopted, though most suspected it, due to her blue eyes. None of the guards moved for fear of the queen.  
  
"Get back here this instant!!" Akuma yelled, running, as best she could in her dress, after the Princess.  
  
Just as she thought the coast was clear in all directions, the Prince came strolling down the hall, nearly jumping in surprise as he saw a strange, yet oddly familiar girl in front of him. "Who are you?" Tadao demanded fearlessly, though he took a considerable amount of steps backwards. He would have been informed had a princess from another kingdom been housing with them, therefore he assumed she was an enemy, of which his family had many.  
  
"You call me Nyoko!" the blue haired girl spat, trudging up to him. "Though I highly doubt that's even my real name!" He eyed her a moment, then looked into her eyes.  
  
"Nyoko? B-But," he stuttered, then stopped. He reached out, touching her hair lightly, then quickly snapped his arm to his chest.  
  
"I am not your sister," the Princess continued. "King Hiroshi and Queen Akuma have been deceiving you all." Tadao was speechless. This girl, his "sister", who he'd known his entire life was now found to be a complete stranger (He's fourteen by the way). It was all too bizarre for him to comprehend. He could feel his head getting lighter by the second.  
  
"How can this be?" he demanded once more, feeling his anger swell. How could his parents lie to him? Were they even his parents at all? Nyoko wasn't his sister. He could have very easily been adopted as well.  
  
"You think I have the answer!" She was beginning to get more angry as well. What did this boy matter to her? He wasn't her brother. As far as she knew she had no family.  
  
"Well how do you think this makes me feel! I've been lied to my whole life! I don't even know you anymore!" Her nose wrinkled immediately with rage. Who was he to tell her about feelings? She was the one who was adopted and forced to pretend to be someone she's not, a person that goes against ever thread of her being.  
  
"How this makes you feel!" the Princess boomed, grabbing the collar of his shirt and pulling him forward. "How do you think I feel! I have to parade around here all day with a fucking wig on! I have to pretend to be some Princess of some empire that I despise! I live with people who are strangers and who will always be strangers! I have no memory of my past and how I came to live in this hell hole! I'm alone in a group of a thousands people! I am no Princess, Tadao!" She pulled at his shirt tighter, lifting him slightly off the ground, clenching her teeth. "I don't feel like a Princess. I don't act like a Princess. I don't want to be a Princess. If it were up to me I'd be a poor farmer's daughter." With that, she dropped him on his back, then trudged in the opposite direction. Tadao shook his head to clear his thoughts and sort out exactly what had just happened. He stood, brushing himself off, then proceeded to the throne room, where he was sure his "sister" had come from.  
  
He needed some answers and he needed them now.  
  
"Father! Mother!" he yelled at the king and queen who were back in their thrones, arguing with one another. At the sound of their son's angry voice, they turned, both glaring at him. "I just ran into Nyoko in the hall!" Both their faces paled immediately. "Without her wig!"  
  
"Tadao," his mother said sympathetically, descending the staircase of which the thrones were atop. "Darling." She took his hands in hers, pulling him forcefully to his throne. "There is much we must discuss."  
  
"Discuss!" he shouted, snatching his hands away from her. "More like you two have some explaining to do! When was I to be informed that that…that imposter was not my blood sister!"  
  
"Son," Hiroshi sighed, exhausted from so much yelling. "There were many reasons we had to keep her identity a secret."  
  
"Like!?" His voice never lost any of its demand or anger. The queen jumped slightly in her throne at her son's violent display. He rarely ever yelled at her or his father, let alone raised his voice.  
  
"If you calm yourself we will explain everything." He paused a moment, waiting for his son's breathing to slow to normal. "Alright…Eight years ago your sister Nyoko came down with an incurable disease…" He looked over to the queen who was padding her eyes with a handkerchief. "She…She passed away only days after becoming infected…" Tadao's eyes widened in horror, for he knew exactly what his father would say next. "We…We were heartbroken…but needed a Princess to pass on…That's when we adopted the new Nyoko…" His eyes too began to become misty. "You were too young to remember or even notice the difference in your sisters."  
  
"What…Who…Who is she really?" he managed after a few moments. He couldn't believe his parents actions. How could they just replace their own daughter!? And with someone who's hair was not even the same color? How long did they think they could fool everyone!?  
  
King Hiroshi bowed his head in shame. He didn't want Tadao to find out this way. "Her real name," he whispered, keeping his eyes on the floor, "is Bulma…Bulma Briefs…"  
  
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---Chapter two!! Woohoo! I'm fast at revising :P Heehee. I hope you guys are liking this story, because I really have high hopes for it. Its just barely started and I know this chapter was short, but a whole lot happened, so I figured it was alright.  
  
REVIEW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (ReviewsMore Chapters)  
  
Next time: Tadao agrees to keep his parent's secret a secret, though he treats "Nyoko" much differently. Will Bulma ever find out where she came from? Or even her real name? Maybe… 


	3. Suitor One and Only

Last time:  
  
"What…Who…Who is she really?" he managed after a few moments. He couldn't believe his parents actions. How could they just replace their own daughter!? And with someone who's hair was not even the same color? How long did they think they could fool everyone!?  
  
King Hiroshi bowed his head in shame. He didn't want Tadao to find out this way. "Her real name," he whispered, keeping his eyes on the floor, "is Bulma…Bulma Briefs…"  
  
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo  
  
The Princess ran down the seemingly endless halls of the palace, ignoring anyone who tried to stop her. Her eyes burned from crying and her heart ached from emptiness. She felt so lonely in this place. She wanted nothing more than to know her past. Even if she couldn't return to where she was from, she still wanted to know. Why had her parents given her up? Was she a Princess of another kingdom? Or was she a poor peasant's daughter? Was that why her identity was kept a secret? Suddenly she felt naked without her wig, and ducked into the next room she came to. "Am I unwanted by everyone?" she cried into her knees, back pressed against the door. She stayed in that position for awhile, until there was a knock at the door. She looked up, suddenly realizing where she was. Tadao's training room. "Yes?" she coughed.  
  
"Nyoko? Is that you?" asked a masculine voice from the other side of the door. It was her best friend, Eizo. The brother of the princess Tadao was courting. She sighed deeply.  
  
"Yes. What is it?" She tried to sound like she didn't want to be bothered, which was true. Hopefully he'd leave her be, and she would just explain everything to him later.  
  
"May I come in?"  
  
"I'll have to face him sooner or later," she thought sadly, whipping her eyes and standing up. "Umm…Eizo. I have something to tell you…but you can't freak out, ok? Its hard enough for me as it is…" He nodded in agreement, then realizing she couldn't see him answered out loud.  
  
"Of course," he said sympathetically, though didn't realize how much he really would freak out over the situation. She slowly opened the door, stepping behind it and letting him enter. "Nyoko, lovely, what's the matter?" His voice and face were as calm as ever. Did he not see her hair? Had he suddenly gone blind?  
  
"Eizo, can you see me?" she asked in all seriousness.  
  
"Of course I can," he laughed, giving her a quick hug. "Now, what's the problem?"  
  
"Eizo, my hair. Don't you see a difference?"  
  
"It's a very nice party wig," he commented, reaching out to feel the smooth hair. "It feels real."  
  
"It isn't a wig, Eizo."  
  
He arched an eyebrow at her in confusion, then laughed again.  
  
"Oh, my Nyoko. I love you darling. What's the occasion? Is someone getting married?"  
  
"Eizo!" she snapped, annoyed. He wasn't listening to a word she was saying. "Listen to me! This is my real hair! Ever since I've been here I've worn a black wig."  
  
"Ever since you've been here? Nyoko, I don't think I understand what you're saying." He was beginning to see the seriousness of the situation, though how serious he couldn't know.  
  
"Eizo, I'm not who you think I am…My name isn't Nyoko. I'm not my parents' daughter or Tadao's sister. I'm no one, the ghost of a girl I never knew."  
  
"Nyoko, please, you're beginning to trouble me," Eizo said, wrinkling his brow. Something in the way she was talking told him to be afraid.  
  
"If you only believe my words you'd be far more troubled," she sighed, hanging her head. What did she have to say to get him to believe her? "Here." She grabbed his wrist and placed his hand on her head. "Pull my hair."  
  
"Nyo—"  
  
"Eizo, please."  
  
He smiled sadly down at her and did as he was told, balling his hand into a fist, a clump of her aqua locks in hand. He tugged lightly at first, then harder as he realized it wouldn't budge. When he released her hair his eyes were quivering. It was real!  
  
"Oh Kami," he gasped, taking a step back. Her words had been true. "N-N-Nyoko?" he whispered.  
  
"Shh. Calm yourself. Yes its me," she said sternly, pulling him all the way in the room and closing the door. Thankfully no one had passed through the hall.  
  
"But, but, but…" he trailed off, not really knowing what to say. Where was his Nyoko!?  
  
"Just quiet down and I'll explain everything." His face never lost any of its shock. She pulled his arm to follow her to sit on a bench at the other end of the room. He went along with her without hesitation, mouth still wide open. Here was a girl he'd known for nearly four years that was now revealed as someone completely different. He just couldn't get used to the blue hair. It was too bizarre. He told himself over and over in his head that it was only a party wig, but just couldn't shake the look in her eyes. She took a deep breath, grabbed his hands in hers, and began. "Alright…My name is not really Nyoko." Eizo nodded. She'd said that before, though it only had meaning now. "I'm not sure of my real name…I'm not really the Princess of the Yon Han Empire…King Hiroshi and Queen Akuma are not my real parents…I…I…" She choked back a few tears and sighed. All this she'd said before, but she just needed to know that he was truly listening now, letting the information sink in. "…I don't know who my real parents are or where I came from…I don't know how long I've been here exactly…I…I…I'm so confused…I need to know my past…" she cried into Eizo's chest for comfort, which he absently obliged to, placing a slightly shaky hand on the back of her head. Not a wig! All this new information was just too much for him. But then he thought of his dear friend he held, crying in his loose embrace. She must feel one hundred times worse than him. It was her fate after all that he'd just learned. "I…I…I'm sorry I didn't tell you before now…" she sobbed, but was suddenly pushed back.  
  
"Wait, you knew this all along?" he asked bitterly. She was supposed to be his best friend.  
  
"Well yes. They made me wear a wig!!" she shouted angrily. She knew what he was getting at. The nerve of him! "How dare you be anything but sympathetic with me you jerk! Do you have any idea how many times I wanted to tell you but couldn't! I HAD to keep it all a secret!" She was furious.  
  
"I thought we could share anything! No matter what!" he retorted, balling his fists.  
  
"No matter what! My "family's" kingdom and reputation were at stake! If I were to tell anyone I would have been out in the cold! I don't even know if I'm a real Princess! I could be executed for impersonating royalty!" Her voice never lost any of its anger.  
  
"Who knew besides the King and Queen and Tadao?" he demanded. His anger wouldn't let him see the beaten girl before him.  
  
"Tadao didn't find out 'til just today!" Eizo gasped. Things were certainly getting weirder and more complicated by the moment. And all he wanted to do was to go over and ask her to join him at dinner at his palace. "Aneko was the only other soul who knew!…Now you all and a few guards are the only ones who know…Though I suppose word will spread soon enough…"  
  
"Why…Why did everyone just find out today?" he asked, more concerned now than angry. She was still his friend, wasn't she? No matter her name. Or the color of her hair.  
  
"I…King Hiroshi told me I must wed before my seventeen year…I got angry and took off my wig…That's when some of the guards found out…Tadao saw me in the hall a few moments ago…I'm sure he's speaking with his parents right now…" she sighed. She was exhausted from all the crying and yelling.  
  
"Well…" Eizo began, taking her hands in his, a weak smile on his face. "I suggest you keep on living just as you are. Pretend to be this Nyoko person, and secretly I will help you find out who you really are." She smiled gingerly at him. She knew she could always count on him for support, even if she did have to beat some sense into him first. "We'll make sure no one else finds out your secret. I'll go speak with the King and Queen right now. I'm sure they've already spoken with the guards." He kissed her cheek lightly then stood. "Oh, before I forget. Would you like to dine with me tonight at my palace?"  
  
"Of course," she replied with some degree of happiness.  
  
"So, you're just going to sit here all day?"  
  
"Well I can't leave like this," she sighed.  
  
"Hmm…" Eizo thought a moment, then smiled. "I'll send Aneko in to bring you a wig." The Princess only smiled and nodded her head. "I'll see you tonight." And with that he was gone. Still a little confused, but happy that he now knew the truth, sort of.  
  
He'd always wondered why she had blue eyes.  
  
oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo A different palace, far away from the Yon Han Empire:  
  
"Vegeta!" bellowed a deep masculine voice outside his training chamber.  
  
"What father?" the young Prince sneered, kicking at an imaginary opponent.  
  
"Get out here so I can have a word with you!" He growled to himself, but stopped his training none the less, grabbing a towel and opening the door.  
  
"What?"  
  
"There is a Princess I would like you to court," he said simply, though Vegeta knew it was more of a demand than a request. He gave his father a death glare, then sighed solemnly. He'd been avoiding taking a bride for years now. He'd only actually courted two or three, all of which obviously turned him down, though he could never figure out why. He'd been more than kind to them, not being himself at all, and still they denied him. It was as if someone was telling them not to choose him.  
  
"Who is it this time?" The King smiled wide, a deep chuckle in the back of his throat.  
  
"Nyoko Sasaki, of the Yon Han Empire." Vegeta's face immediately paled, then a volt of overwhelming anger surged through his body.  
  
"Nyoko Sasaki!?" The King simply nodded. "Of the Yon Han Empire!?…Are you mad!? You expect me to court her for marriage!? You do remember who she is, right?"  
  
"Yes of course I remember. Bulma Briefs of the old Maruyama Empire." He paused a moment, his smile morphing into a devilish smirk. "This was the plan all along my son. King Briefs wouldn't let his daughter wed to a stranger in an arranged marriage. I offered him the largest dowry any Princess had ever been offered…but no," he sneered angrily towards his son, as if he had something to do with it. "He said he wanted her to marry for love." His expression became disgusted, his fists clenched. "So I found a way around it. Queen Akuma and the Black Dragon gladly offered their assistance…And well, you know the plan from there. You were a big part of it. Making her strong and at ease around you. She actually trusted you!" he laughed, tilting his head back slightly. "Then you had to snoop around in my personal business!…You found out we were going to relocate her in another kingdom, and tried to help her. Too bad we caught on, and sent the Black Dragon sooner than expected. It's a good thing you worked her so hard the night before…She was practically defenseless." Vegeta stood, mouth agape, staring at his father. He could not believe anything that was coming out of his mouth. This was all done so he could wed Bulma Briefs? He was about to lunge at him, when he grabbed his wrists and slammed him into the nearest wall. "Don't even think about it," he warned.  
  
"How do you expect me to court her when she knows who I am!" he hissed through clenched teeth. "Don't you think the name will give it away!"  
  
"Simple. She has a fake name. You get one too."  
  
"Fine," he growled, shrugging his father off him and crossing his arms over his chest. He couldn't believe his father had lied to him and gone behind his back like that. And to Bulma no less! But he knew that if he didn't cooperate a horrible fate would befall her and it would be all his fault…again. This was his one chance to make things right. He would avenge Bulma and get revenge on his father all at once. Just thinking about it almost made him smirk, though he held it back. "What's my name?"  
  
King Frieza cupped his chin in his hand, thinking for the perfect name. "Well…" he hummed, narrowing his brow and pursing his lips. "How does-"  
  
"Father," Vegeta interrupted angrily. "It matters not whether I approve of the pseudo name given to me…Just pick any one…" He paused a moment. "The first thing that comes to mind."  
  
"Alright then…" He lifted his head, looking directly into his only son's eyes. "Yukio."  
  
"Yukio?…"  
  
"Yes, Yukio. That's what I will call you from now until you have woed and wed the young Bulma Briefs…er… Nyoko Sasaki. Is that clear?"  
  
"Crystal, father…" He turned to leave, but then swirled on his heel and asked. "What's the meaning behind such a name? I know I've known it before. It can't just be the first thing you thought, I know you old man."  
  
"Ahh, glorious observation my son," King Frieza cooed, and would have most likely patted him on the head had it not been for his manner and age. "The meaning behind Yukio is this…He who gets what he wants." He snickered lightly to himself, exiting the room before his son had a chance to respond.  
  
"He who gets what he wants?" he said aloud, arching an eyebrow. "I like it."  
  
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King Hiroshi and Queen Akuma sat patiently, awaiting their "daughter's" arrival. Well the king was at least. Akuma was slumped low in her thrown, tapping her finger, and huffing every few moments, all of which was very unladylike. They had sent for her nearly an hour ago, and still there was not word of her.  
  
"Where is that girl?" Akuma hissed, glaring over at her calm husband. "I cannot believe we ever agreed to such an arrangement. King Frieza must be laughing at us…" she murmured, ignoring her husband as he sighed in disbelief. He had always been against the whole thing, though was forced into it, otherwise war was a possible outcome, and being that their empire had almost crumpled with the last quarrel, he opted to go along with things. After all, how bad could it turn out?  
  
"I'm not sure dear, perhaps I should seek her out," the King suggested listlessly.  
  
"No! That is just what she wants!" she boomed, turning from him and crossing her arms.  
  
"Alright dear…" He was through trying to reason with her. If his father were still alive he'd seriously consider assassinating him for accepting Akuma's dowry.  
  
A few minutes later, when the Queen was just about to snap at the King again, Bulma came strolling into the thrown room, smiling no less, her wig back in place.  
  
"Wench, where have you been?" Akuma growled, leaping from her seat.  
  
"That's no business of yours, mother," she sneered, balling her fists.  
  
"No business of mine? No business of mine! When you are gone and out of my hair, then you will be no business of mine! But until then, dear, you are under my command!"  
  
"Like hell I am! I am not your blood, therefore should not even be living in this hell hole!"  
  
"You want to be sent out on the street? With no money or name? Be a nobody? Filthy with rags and flees!"  
  
"That life would be a world better than this one. I despise the Yon Han Empire and all the wealthy in it! Give me to a farmer! Let me take his daughter's name, but do not keep me here any longer, I cannot endure it!"  
  
"You will endure it," the queen said, her voice low and measured. Slowly, she stepped down the stairs of the thrown, coming within inches of Bulma's face. "If you leave this palace I will not hesitate to put a price on your head. I will have you hunted down like a dog for the rest of your life…Now, will you stay and be the obedient daughter you're supposed to be, my darling?"  
  
Bulma stiffened as Akuma's cold, bony fingers touched her cheek, grazing it lightly. But she did not move. She would not show weakness.  
  
"I never have to see your sour face again once I'm married?" Bulma asked after a long pause, a graceful smile on her lips. They were such great actors, the two of them. No one outside the palace would suspect they hated each other, or weren't mother and daughter no less.  
  
"Never," the queen said, her voice coated with honey.  
  
"And my real family? My real name? Can I know these things?"  
  
The king and queen both stiffened noticeably at her request. Of course they knew it was coming, but the truth of Bulma's past was even more horrible than that of the real Nyoko. Even they didn't know exactly how the royals of the house of Briefs had fallen eight years before. Two days later, after the death of their daughter, they were presented with the shivering Bulma Briefs by King Hiroshi's cold sister, the Dark Princess. With her came a scroll from King Frieza, threatening the lives of the entire royal family of the Yon Han Empire, and their allies, if this child was not reared by them and offered as a bride to the young Prince Vegeta at age sixteen.  
  
"Your real name is Bulma," the king finally said, easing the tension. "That's all we know." It was a small lie, but a brutal one. They really didn't know much about her, though her family had been their greatest enemies since as long as Hiroshi could remember, his father's father's father's father's war, carried on through the generations. No one could remember what the original quarrel had been about.  
  
"Bulma," the Princess sighed, letting the syllables roll off her tongue. It was a single piece of a thousand-piece puzzle. Her name. "And suitors?" she asked, reverting back to her cold demeanor. "I'm sure you have some lined up."  
  
"One," the queen said, stepping back to return to her throne. "He'll be here by the week's end, so you're expected to be on your best behavior."  
  
"I take it that means he can't know I train," Bulma sneered bitterly. It was her only solace in life, aside from Eizo who couldn't always be there when she needed comfort.  
  
"To say the least," Akuma laughed softly, giving a flick of her wrist that meant the meeting was over. But it meant so much more to Bulma. By the end of the week she would be free of her pseudo mother's painful hold. And no matter who the suitor was, she would be the most prim, proper, and ladylike princess the world had known. She would be free, even if it killed her.  
  
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---Chapter 3!!! Yay! I'm getting really into this story now :) Hopefully I'll get more reviews for this one. Its pathetic how many reviews I have :(  
  
REVIEW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (ReviewsMore Chapters)  
  
Next time: The mystery suitor comes… 


	4. Yukio, The Beast

Last time:  
  
"I take it that means he can't know I train," Bulma sneered bitterly. It was her only solace in life, aside from Eizo who couldn't always be there when she needed comfort.  
  
"To say the least," Akuma laughed softly, giving a flick of her wrist that meant the meeting was over. But it meant so much more to Bulma. By the end of the week she would be free of her pseudo mother's painful hold. And no matter who the suitor was, she would be the most prim, proper, and ladylike princess the world had known. She would be free, even if it killed her.  
  
oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo  
  
"And what makes you so sure I was a royal?" Bulma asked, her cheek resting on her palm. She was beyond uncomfortable, but had long since given up on trying to find a comfortable position. In her clothes, she would never be comfortable.  
  
"There is no possible way you were not," Eizo said firmly, as his eyes scanned the giant leather-bound ledger before him. They'd been in his family's record room, an offshoot of the library, for over two hours and had turned up no information on royal families with daughters named Bulma or any name close. "Queen Akuma would never allow anyone but a royal into her family."  
  
"But it's a cover-up. I'm supposed to be Nyoko, remember? It didn't matter who I was."  
  
"Yes, but there was always the possibility that someone outside the family could find out about the scandal. If that happened she would want you to have royal blood so the blow wouldn't be so hard."  
  
"I guess that makes sense," she sighed, leaning forward to get a better look at the ledger he'd been pouring over for the last half an hour. "Wait." She grabbed Eizo's wrist before he could turn the page and pulled the book towards her. "The Cold Empire?" she whispered, her brow wrinkled with thought. "Why does that name sound so familiar?"  
  
"Yon Han and Cold are strong allies," Eizo informed her.  
  
"Yes, but I never knew that. I know nothing of the politics of this empire or any other. I'm not permitted to it as a mere princess. I've heard no one in this kingdom speak that name before." She paused a moment, her arms falling from the table into her lap. "I think it's from my past..." Suddenly she looked up, startling Eizo with her pleading eyes. "What can you tell me about The Cold Empire?"  
  
"I only know that your family is their greatest ally, and that they're hated by all other empires."  
  
"Who were their biggest enemies?" Bulma asked eagerly, clasping Eizo's hands. She was on to something, he could tell by the look in her eyes.  
  
"I told you," Eizo sighed gently, "they were enemies of everyone save your family."  
  
"Then who was their ultimate enemy? Who were they always at war with?"  
  
"Nyoko, why does this matter?"  
  
Bulma frowned deeply and sat back. "Please, don't use that name."  
  
"Forgive me." He reached over and grabbed her hand, giving the back of it a light kiss. "It will take some getting used to."  
  
"It matters because I don't think I came from an allied family."  
  
Eizo arched an eyebrow, sitting back in his armchair. "Ny-Bulma, what are you saying? You believe that your family captured you from another empire? One they were at war with?"  
  
"Why couldn't that have happened?" Bulma demanded angrily. "The Yon Han Empire is the most corrupt empire in history! The only reason your family converses with mine is because they're cousins in some way. Blood aside, your family would be at war with mine and you know it!"  
  
"Then there's only one empire you could be from...but what will that change, Bulma? What can you really do with this information? Your family is long gone..."  
  
Bulma ran her fingers along the crisp, yellowing pages of the ledger, wrinkled at the edges from time and wear. Did she want to know? A week before she would have said yes, absolutely, she wanted nothing more. But now, after so much had happened, so many lives changed forever, she could not remember why knowing had been so important. Yes, to know who she was, who her family were and what they'd been like. But they were gone, as Eizo had said, and there was no going back. She could never have that life again, never be that person again, whoever she was. She was now, and would forever be, Nyoko Sasaki, Princess of the Yon Han Empire, soon to be Queen of another.  
  
"I suppose you could be right," she said after much consideration. "Maybe knowing will do nothing."  
  
Eizo smiled meekly at her, and pulled her into a soft, warm embrace. He gave her a firm kiss on the forehead, and whispered, "No matter who you were, you will always be the best thing that has ever happened to me." He turned her head gently towards him, capturing her lips and sending cold shivers down her spine. How long had they gone without passion in the beginning? They were the best of friends, but also the greatest of lovers, never to be married for no other reason than their parents would never permit it. Tadao was marrying Juri, Eizo's younger sister, when they were of age. All the formal papers had been signed and all arrangements for the wedding planned. Not that she loved Eizo in that way, far from it, but the idea of not having him forever was unbearable. She had no idea he felt the same.  
  
"Eizo," she whispered, pulling away roughly. "We can't go on this way. I...A suitor is coming in three days. The only suitor I will ever have...Eizo, he's the man I'm destined to marry."  
  
Eizo released her immediately, as if she carried a deadly plague, and sat back, his hand cupped over his chin. Married? He'd never considered their not being together before, not really. Somehow, he'd always assumed they would never be separated, never be courted or have to court, their lives lived out in the bliss of mindless childhood. But Bulma was a woman now, sixteen years old; old enough to be a mother in the eyes of the law. Her husband would be furious when he found she was no virgin. Eizo, on the other hand, had four to six years before he even had to consider taking a wife and carrying on in his aging father's place.  
  
"Please, don't be cold to me. We have three days before he arrives in all his pomp and ceremony. The wedding won't be until a week later."  
  
"And then I shall never see you again," Eizo sighed, unable to look her in the eye. She was a taken woman know, and there was nothing he could do to change that.  
  
"Never?" she laughed softly, placing a delicate hand on his. "Eizo, my love, no man could keep me from seeing you. If I know the queen, this man will have strong connections with my family, which can only mean that he has strong connections with yours. You shall see come the eve of his arrival. You will be there, won't you?" Her eyes held the most complete sadness that he could have never said no.  
  
"Of course, my dear. I want to know who is taking you from me," he said with mock jealousy. True, he was going to miss their dysfunctional relationship, their long passionate moments in his fire-lighted library, or their quick heated-filled flings in servants' quarters or well-hidden courtyards. But she was not, and never could be, his true love. The love of his life. The woman he was meant to marry, have children with, and grow old and bitter with. He had never seen her in that light. She was his lover and best friend, but that was the extent of it. He prayed to Kami that she would find happiness with her husband. "Shall we dine now?" he asked as he stood, extending his hand to her. She took without a second thought, smiling sweetly at him. He never failed to bring her out of sour moods.  
  
"You make the world worth it all," she said, snaking her arm through his as they made their way to the evening feast, both dreading the week to come.  
  
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Three o'clock Friday morning, fifteen hours before Bulma's suitor was to arrive; fifteen hours until the end of her life. Feverishly she kicked and punched at the bag of sand that hung from the ceiling of Tadao's training room. Three hours before she'd been in her own training room, made after much arguing with the queen just two years ago. But, in a rage of energy, she'd ripped open the bag and poured gallons of sand on the floor. Without another thought, she wiped her forehead, left the room, and snuck into Tadao's training room in the opposite wing. She planned on staying there until someone found her and forced her to leave.  
  
It was seven in the morning before Aneko finally found her, beaten and bruised on the matted floor, her breathing labored, yet shallow. For a split second her maid feared the worst, but upon closer inspection saw the truth of the situation. Her trainer was nowhere in sight.  
  
"Where is Aritomo?" Aneko asked angrily as she lifted Bulma off the floor.  
  
"I never called him in," she laughed hoarsely, giving way to a fit of painful coughing.  
  
"You're a danger to yourself, child," she sighed. "What will your mother think when she sees that great bruise on your cheek? How did you acquire that all by yourself?"  
  
"I have talent." Bulma rolled her eyes, half attempted to get free, then allowed Aneko to drag her to her quarters to be dressed properly for the day to come. "Aneko," she said in a low voice as she was lowered into a tub of steaming water. "Bring Eizo to me. I cannot endure this without him..."  
  
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Eizo stood quietly in the back of the room, arms crossed behind his back, watching the semi-celebration unfold in all its colorful magnificence. Hours before, he'd witnessed something few royals get to see in all their lives; the dressing of a lady, from beginning to end. He didn't know how they could stand sitting still for so long, having to be caked with layers of make-up and hugged with pounds of fabrics-he respected Bulma for it immensely.  
  
Shortly she would be arriving to take her place on her throne, where she is to sit and await her suitor. Her brother Tadao was already there, and in quite the argument with his parents. And though Eizo couldn't hear their words, he knew what they must be saying. It was about Bulma, and he looked furious. He doubted Tadao had spoken to her since he found out, though he couldn't be sure, for she would never admit to something so harsh. Her entire life was about perception, and this situation was no different.  
  
"My prince," came a light voice in his ear. He'd been so distracted by the arguing royals that he hadn't noticed Bulma's arrival. He swore she looked more magnificent now than ever before. It saddened him slightly to know that it was all for another. "How are you fairing this evening? You look listless." She held in her small, white hand a fashionable cup of wine.  
  
"I'm fairing well, Princess," he answered with the same properness. He loved when they acted this way, making a mockery of the whole royal structure. "You look well this evening and for such grand occasion."  
  
She giggled softly, the way all young girls are taught to laugh, holding their hand gently over their mouth, their hand downcast while their eyes look almost graciously at the person who made them laugh.  
  
"You flatter my daughter well, sir," came Queen Akuma's almost rough voice. She slung her arm loosely around Eizo's shoulder, extending her face subtly in his direction. He took the hint and gave her a light kiss on the kiss, complimenting her on her attire and loveliness. He despised her as much as Bulma did, though he was an expert at keeping his feelings well hidden. If not, he'd have Bulma in hysterics over his sadness; why did it have to end?  
  
"She has much to be flattered about, milady," he said in that soft gentlemanly tone. "As does her mother." The queen giggled in the same practiced fashion, bowed faintly at the waist, and made her leave.  
  
"I don't know why she insists on doing that," Bulma groaned, watching her retreat back to her throne. "All she has to do is wave me over. I know I'm supposed to be up there with them."  
  
"But you're down here with me," he observed, glancing at the king. He raised his glass and gave a slight nod. "I think you should obey them this last night. We both know you are in the hands of your husband the moment he steps foot in this hall."  
  
Bulma gave a heavy sigh and nodded. He was right. One night wouldn't hurt her.  
  
"I only regret that we cannot have our love anymore," she said quickly, giving him a kiss on the cheek. She was gone, and halfway to the thrones, before he had a chance to react. His head swam sensuously for a moment and a small smile graced his lips. Aneko had left them alone for some time before Bulma was dressed. She was the only soul who knew about their love affair, and though she disapproved of it, knew there was nothing she could do and opted to help them lest they get caught sometime down the road.  
  
"Will you miss your lover?" Akuma sneered as Bulma took her seat.  
  
"Lover?" she laughed lightly, her eyes betraying nothing. She was an expert. "Now why would you want to upset me on our last night together? You wound me mother."  
  
"I've been dreaming of this day since the moment I laid eyes on you. Trust me, I would do nothing to spoil it."  
  
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The moment he entered the room Bulma was struck with a crushing sense of familiarity. From where or when she thought she knew this man she did not know, only that there was something so familiar about him it made her almost want to cry. Luckily, however, she was skilled in the art of disguise in every way imaginable. Even when in a heated moment with Eizo, she was able to keep her persona, and her wig for that matter, well intact. She was never suspicious, her greatest asset.  
  
His name, she'd been informed that morning, was Yukio Ouji, the only son of King Frieza of the Cold Empire. She cringed inwardly at the thought; how much closer was she going to get to her past without actually knowing a thing? Aside from being familiar, he was an extremely good-looking man, with high cheekbones, piercing black eyes, and well-trimmed jet-black hair (GT hair). He wore usual royal attire, complete with a deep blue velvet cape and simple single-jeweled gold crown. If she only had to look at him for the rest of her life she would not be so against the idea of marriage. But to get away from Akuma, away from this kingdom-it was too good an opportunity to overlook.  
  
As was proper, Yukio approached first the queen, giving her a gentle kiss on the back of the hand; then the king, a deep bow at the waist; then the prince, a simple handshake; and finally, with a wide somewhat sloppy grin, the princess, his prize, and another kiss on the hand. He retired to a specially crafted throne beside Bulma, but generally paid her no mind as he conversed with the king and queen. Tadao he talked with excessively as well, mostly on war and politics, a subject that intrigued Bulma to no end. She listened intently without looking like she was paying attention at all, soaking up every word.  
  
Finally, after a long drawn-out feast, the royal minstrels quickened their somber notes to play dancing music. When Prince Yukio did not offer her a hand, she looked to Eizo down the long table, giving him a welcoming nod. He accepted her invitation anxiously; both were itching to be near one another. The night seemed so long.  
  
"This evening is dreadful," Bulma said once they were on the dance floor and out of earshot. "Thank Kami we have this week to be together before the wedding."  
  
"I heard no wedding announcement," Eizo said, glancing quickly at the sovereigns who still presided over the dining table.  
  
"Trust me," she sighed, "this is nothing more than an arranged marriage parading around as a courtship."  
  
"And so you have no say in the matter?"  
  
"When do women ever get a say?" she laughed. "It's all illusion, my love. You will learn that soon enough when you become king."  
  
"May I cut in?" came a rough voice, breath touching her ear. It was Yukio, of course.  
  
"Certainly, your majesty," Eizo said, giving him a deep bow as he backed away and off the dance floor. Bulma missed him instantly. But as Yukio's rough hands made contact with her, she suddenly could only think of him and what lay ahead.  
  
"Your silence troubles me, my lord," she said when they'd been dancing for quite some time. "Is there something about me that is not pleasing?" Inwardly she wanted to gag, to not have to say such vile words, but she was the property and therefore required to do any and all things to please her husband.  
  
"Nothing about women is displeasing," he said rather roughly, unable to meet her gaze. "Save those with untamed mouths."  
  
"Sir," she said, trying her best to keep her voice calm and unaffected, "I should hope you are not referring to my inquires. I have only your happiness in mind. Forgive me if I have crossed some boundary." Kill me now, she thought, her hand subconsciously gripping his harder.  
  
"Your words are so sweet," he commented, "yet there is nothing sweet about you. Your appearance maybe, but your soul is far from it."  
  
"Sir, I ask you kindly to refrain."  
  
He smirked down at her, being several inches taller, and leaned in as if he meant to kiss her cheek. "Let me see your fire," he whispered huskily in her ear. She was immediately repulsed and wrenched her head back.  
  
"Sir," she seethed, unable to hide her feelings any longer. What did it matter how she acted around him? He obviously knew how she was. "This is the last time I am going to ask you to not be so vulgar in my presence."  
  
"You are already mine, princess. I thought it best you see who I am from the beginning."  
  
"You are a foul man," Bulma hissed viciously, turning roughly away from him. If he had been expecting it he would have been able to grab her arm and force her to stay, but, thinking that she was trained to be obedient for the evening at least, he was completely unprepared and was left dumbfounded on the dance floor.  
  
"Are you mad child?" King Hiroshi asked, evidence of mild anger in his voice, as she approached the table. Sure she acted up with him and her mother, but to her suitor? It was completely uncalled for. "How dare you insult Prince Yukio in such a way. He is to be honored and respected."  
  
"And he shall receive his respect," she hissed, "when I receive mine!"  
  
Moments later Yukio approached the table, a smirk etched beautiful in his features. He didn't give Bulma a glance, going straight to the king.  
  
"When is the soonest we can be wed?" he asked, his smirk seeming to deepen.  
  
"I-I-" the king stuttered, turning to his wife. "You have made your decision so soon?"  
  
"Of course, my lord. Your daughter is the loveliest I have encountered. I cannot live without her as my bride."  
  
"Can you wait one week?" Akuma asked, drawing his attention.  
  
"If I must," he answered politely.  
  
"Have I no say in the matter, suitor?" Bulma snapped, turning sharply towards him.  
  
"You make my heart ache," he laughed, looking her directly in the eye. "When have you ever had a say?"  
  
"I am no man's property!" she snapped, having to force the bile in her throat from rising at the thought of spending the rest of her life with such a barbarian. "Speak to me again tonight and I shall do all in my power to make our marriage a miserable scandal at best!" She was out of the room without another word.  
  
Immediately Eizo caught up to her in the hall, trying desperate to comfort her as she sped towards her training room. But, no matter what words he used, or kisses on her cheeks and lips, she could no be comforted, not even by him. Nothing could change the fact that she would be married within the week, that she was now and forever the property of Yukio Ouji, sold like a common piece of cattle. She despised the world and all the people in it.  
  
"Please," she all but whimpered upon reaching the door to her chambers; she'd completely bypassed her training room in her anger and sadness. "I wish to see no one. I will call for you when I am able."  
  
"But Bul-"  
  
"Please, do not make this harder for me. I love you, my prince. Goodnight."  
  
"G-Goodnight," he whispered solemnly as the door closed before him. If only there were something he could do. But he knew there was nothing and so, with a heavy sigh, he retreated back to the banquet hall to take his leave of the king and queen so he could go home and wallow in his own sorrow. When had their lives become so complicated?  
  
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---Chapter 4! Wow! I really liked that one! So much going on! Bulma and Eizo? Ahh! Its too much for my little brain! Heehee :P  
  
REVIEW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (ReviewsMore Chapters)  
  
Next time: The wedding, eeep!!  
  
Note: As was mentioned in the chapter, Bulma and Eizo are not in love. They are, however, best friends and do love each other in that way. Also, I didn't change Vegeta's last name because Bulma never knew it in the past.  
  
Special thanks to: bulma blu eyes for being my Beta! :D 


	5. The Marriage and the Tragedy

Last time:  
  
"Please, do not make this harder for me. I love you, my prince. Goodnight."  
  
"G-Goodnight," he whispered solemnly as the door closed before him. If only there were something he could do. But he knew there was nothing and so, with a heavy sigh, he retreated back to the banquet hall to take his leave of the king and queen so he could go home and wallow in his own sorrow. When had their lives become so complicated?  
  
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In the week before the grand wedding ceremony, last minute invitations were sent out with the fastest and most reliable of messengers—those who the king and queen paid off more than generously. The banquet hall was off limits to any servant not aiding with the decorations, and those whose curiosity got the better of them were immediately fired without explanation. Across the city, in the grandest of churches, hired men and women worked tirelessly to prepare it for the wedding of the decade—their princess was leaving them, and everyone was both joyous and mournful. She was the only princess in their history who was loved so dearly by her people; her kindness was known in innumerably kingdoms; she was a princess for the people.  
  
Aneko, in keeping with tradition, was by Bulma's side every waking moment. Her lessons switched from calligraphy and customary womanly instruction, to the all-important training to be a wife and queen. Though she was not to be a queen for some time, until the passing of King Frieza, her duties should be well blended with her manner and ready at hand at any moment. Needless to say, Aneko was in for a rough week.  
  
"This is preposterous!" Bulma snapped, throwing her utensils down and crossing her arms. "I am no more fit to be a wife than I am a mule! This marriage will not work, I cannot do it!"  
  
"You know right well you are the only woman likeable to a man such as Yukio Ouji!" Aneko shot back, gathering up the disposed utensils. She shoved them almost painfully back into Bulma's hand. "You can marry this man, and you will, and you will be the most cherished queen the Cold Empire has ever seen."  
  
"But why am I the only first-rate bride? I despise this man and all he stands for."  
  
"You, my sweet," Aneko said, leaning in, a wry smile on her lips, "are the only woman bold enough to take a stand with him, with any man or ranking royal. You are his missing piece, the key to his soul. You are fiery, and that is why he wants you."  
  
"He wants a disobedient wife?" she laughed, not believing her maid's words for a moment.  
  
"Indeed, child, that is the very thing he desires, and he has found it in you."  
  
"It makes not one ounce of sense. I do not believe you, and I am done with these lessons for now. I starve."  
  
"Of course you do," Aneko laughed. "You have not eaten at all today. Come. Your last week here, I will give you a treat."  
  
"A treat?" Bulma's face beamed. "You mean—?"  
  
"Yes, yes. Now come, before your mother catches wind. She has ears like a cat, you know."  
  
"A cat? More like the devil, mistress."  
  
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Bulma held her stomach almost tenderly as she and Aneko exited the kitchen, her face glowing. In all her years at the palace, she had never been aloud near the kitchen, or any of the other servant-only areas. Ladies should never get close to having their hands dirty. She had been lucky when the king and queen agreed to let her train.  
  
"I ate more than my stomach can hold," Bulma laughed, her face twisting into a look of mild pain. "I must lie down."  
  
"You enjoyed my gift then?" Aneko asked, almost nervously. As a servant, she made only enough money to help support her family; there was no extra money.  
  
"I could ask for nothing more."  
  
Aneko smiled warmly. Bulma had always been her savior.  
  
"You know you have tea scheduled with Prince Yukio?"  
  
"Kuso!" Bulma swore, shaking her head. She'd completely forgotten about that in her excitement.  
  
"Nyoko, dear, cursing is a point we have gone over. A lady—"  
  
"A lady must never curse, whether she be in the company of others or not," she mocked. "Nyoko. I despise that you must call me that name."  
  
"Outside your chambers it is the only name you can know. I am sorry for that, but keeping your secret is crucial to the survival of this kingdom and the kingdom of your fiancé."  
  
"When is my tea time?" Bulma sighed. The last thing she wanted to do her last week there was argue with her beloved maid; chances were they would never lay eyes on each other again.  
  
"Very soon, child. Come. We must prepare you. You cannot be presented to him this way."  
  
"And what is so terrible about the way I am?"  
  
"Do you wish to make your life painless?" Aneko warned. Of course she didn't mean pain in the physical sense. Bulma nodded slowly, her head hung just a little lower. "Then do as I say and you may still find happiness in your life."  
  
"Happiness, mama?" Bulma asked sadly. "I fear I shall never know that feeling. I entertain myself with the idea I was once happy, in that life I cannot remember."  
  
"You are about to be in the most powerful position a woman can have," Aneko said, almost excitedly, though she kept her voice low so not to rouse suspicion. "You are adored by your people for your kindness, a trait your true parents passed on to you. You will make your new people happy as well, and, in giving them that happiness, you can find some measurement of it yourself…I wish there was more I could offer you. But for royalty…there is no love."  
  
"I know," Bulma sighed, taking her maid's hand. "I know…I only wish I could have felt it once."  
  
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Vegeta sat rigidly in a high-backed chair at a fashionable tea table in the south garden. His hands lay crossed in his lap, his eyes downcast and unseeing. For an hour he had been sitting in the exact same way, having come to their meeting place early. He was in desperate need of these moments alone. He did not know how he could endure this wedding. She was Bulma! She had to know who he was, have some sense of familiarity when she looked into his eyes. Though, now that he thought about it, he could not recall a time since their first meeting two days before that she aloud herself to look at him straight on.  
  
"She must know," he whispered to himself, ears perking as he heard footfalls on the stone walk. He turned slowly and stood when he saw it was Bulma, decked out in her finest, her lips playing a half-smile half-frown. "Milady," he said, taking her head and leading her to her seat.  
  
"Thank you, sir," she said, her voice soft and low. Could she ever know how truly beautiful she was? He despised the make-up she was forced to wear. Even as a child, he had seen that unmarred beauty. He longed to touch her clean, supple face. Quickly, he reminded himself that his time for such things would come on their wedding night in five days. Five days was all he had to wait, and then she was his forever.  
  
But at what price?  
  
"It is a lovely afternoon for tea. I'm so glad your arranged for this," Bulma said when her fiancé would say nothing.  
  
"All common wedding business," he said, unable to look her in the eye. All he could think was: Bulma! Bulma! Bulma! Her black wig looked all wrong. "This tea has been waiting since we were born."  
  
"Very well. What shall we discuss then? I know very little about your kingdom."  
  
"The less you know, the happier our lives shall be."  
  
Bulma wrinkled her nose in annoyance. He was playing with her, as if she were a pull toy—a wooden horse with wheels and a string—trying to make her mimic the movements he desired.  
  
"I must confess a deadly truth then," she whispered as she leaned in. Her tea and cakes were untouched.  
  
"A secret you have from me?" he inquired. She was unlike any other lady he had encountered. If his past women had kept secrets, he was completely unaware; they were supposed to be experts at hiding such things. He suspected the world of women was a world of secrets, a place no man would ever understand. Did they hold secret meetings and discuss things no man could know? He laughed silently at the thought. He could never see Bulma at such a gathering.  
  
"A secret I should have from the world." Vegeta's form stiffened. She was going to tell him that she trained, that she had not stopped training since she was that beautiful young girl, her spirit still on fire inside as he remembered; this woman before him was a mere shadow of that Bulma. She was more Nyoko Sasaki than he realized, a woman neither had known. "May I breech tradition and tell you?"  
  
"Tradition?" he wondered aloud. What did she mean?  
  
"You know as well as I do that women are secretive from men. We know all your secrets as well."  
  
"So you do play the game. And here I suspected you were someone spectacular." He smirked, setting a hand on the table only inches from Bulma's. Just a little contact; this charade was insufferable.  
  
"My queen was adamant about such things. I have no desire for secrets and games. Only those I must keep for my safety and the safety of my family. But you have those secrets as well."  
  
"Very well, lady," he said, forcing his voice to sound agitated. She must never catch wind of his trepidation. The act was not over yet; the players were still in motion, curtain raised, and the audience was thirsty for more.  
  
"My secret, my lord, is hidden deep in my heart." She grabbed his wrist suddenly, startling him, and placed his hand on her chest; he could feel her heart beating strong beneath the skin. This was most unladylike behavior. He imaged her parents and his face gasping and fainting at the sight of them being so untraditional in the garden; the tea was cold and untouched on both side of the table. "I do not wish to be a royal. I do not wish for riches and balls and great ceremonies in celebration of things I never cared to mind." Her eyes shifted abruptly, and, for the first time, she looked directly, deliberately, into his eyes. He felt his blood quicken. "Forgive me, sir, but I do not wish to marry either. To be poor and independent. To be a maid like my Aneko. To get my hands dirty and calloused, working for my food and clothing. For a real life, I would give all I have. For love," her voice lowered to a shaky whisper, "I would give my life."  
  
He didn't notice when she stopped speaking, until she sat back and his hand fell hard on the table. He straightened himself up and frowned. Inside, however, he wanted nothing more than to grab her small waist and kiss her passionately. For those few moments he'd seen the old Bulma, the girl of the past, and his soul ached for her once more.  
  
"But," she said, her voice returning to normal, "I am guaranteed to have none of those things. I must conceive of a realistic way in which to obtain my happiness."  
  
"Your life here does not make you happy?" Vegeta asked, picking up his tea before he could stop himself. It was dreadfully cold.  
  
"Does your life in your kingdom give you happiness, my lord? Or do you feel a pit of charred black emptiness in your soul? One that you cannot fill, no matter what you try?"  
  
"You, milady," he said sternly, "are the most unnatural and ill-mannered lady I have ever had the displeasure of courting. When would a question such as that be appropriate for a woman to ask a man?"  
  
"Is that where I must cross the line for who I am, my prince?" she asked, tilting her head slightly to the side. Her maid had affixed her wig perfectly; not a blue hair in sight. "Must I be forced to hide my true self so you can sleep well at night in knowing that you have a tedious and obedient wife? For a moment I thought I may come to enjoy living at your palace…I was terribly wrong."  
  
"You are terrible, and that is all," Vegeta sighed. He reached across the table and grabbed her hand. For a second he thought she might refuse the gesture, but then she smiled and he nearly burst. It was a true smile, Bulma's smile, and he wanted to take it into himself, for he predicted her smiles would be few and far between, the same as his own.  
  
"Then I still have my chance at some happiness?"  
  
"You, milady, shall live in a reservoir of chances."  
  
Her smile widened ever so slightly and she nodded. For now she could accept that.  
  
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The wedding ceremony went as expected, with little or no mishaps; a grand array of the most expensive decorations; a dull and lifeless display of riches. Bulma had to stop herself from yawning. It was beautiful, yes, but never had she been more bored in her life.  
  
It was at the gala afterwards that she would be free to enjoy herself, though she wonder how much with her mother's eye on her, and the restraints of a new husband.  
  
"Husband," she thought aloud as Aneko redressed her for the gala. Her wedding dress was too gorgeous to be worn to a party; it would never again be worn by anyone but a mannequin in Bulma's closet. If it were up to her, the dress would be given away. She didn't want a reminder of this day, the day she lost her freedom.  
  
"What was that?" Aneko asked. She pulled Bulma's hair from her eyes and gave her a motherly kiss on the cheek. As far as Bulma was concern, she was her mother. With a deep breath, she forced tears back. Aneko would be too heartbroken if she saw her cry.  
  
"Nothing, ma'am," she sighed. "I was only thinking out loud."  
  
"I wish I could dress up your natural hair." Bulma turned to face her, surprised by her words. For eight years she'd been adamant with the wig. "Yes?"  
  
"But I thought you loved my wig," she teased, knowing the opposite was true.  
  
"Oh, bite your tongue, princess," Aneko huffed, turning her gently back around. "I must make you look presentable for the gala. Kami forbid a single hair is out of place."  
  
"Kami forbid," Bulma laughed softly. It was just like her maid to get herself worked up over the most useless and unchangeable things. But she supposed that was a trait she loved, and would miss, about her beloved pseudo mother. If only ladies weren't supposed to grow up so fast.  
  
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Eizo held Bulma firmly in her chamber as she cried into his arms. He had come in just as Aneko had finished preparing her, and in his hand he held a letter addressed to Bulma from her brother; she had been crying ever since.  
  
My Dearest Bulma,  
  
In having found out your true identity, and being struck with it at such force and suddenness, I have given myself some distance from you, my supposed sister, in an attempt to collect my thoughts. On that day and to this day, I have thought for many hours, my brain swelling and aching as only emotional pain can do. It wounds me to no end that you did not trust me, your brother, your friend, enough to tell me your deepest secrets. I had been under the impression for too long that the world was a mostly generous and loving place—your masquerade proved my lighthearted theories wrong and now my soul is in a perpetual state of grief. I mourn for my lost sister. She has been laid in the ground some eight years and without proper prayer from her brother, her true brother.  
  
Regretfully, I have decided that the world is not worth the pain it causes those who deserve none. I sit at my writing desk, where I have not sat in some years, and write you, and only you, this my final correspondence. My heart is heavy and in my head are thoughts so vile and unnatural I feel ill. I cannot endure in this state a moment longer. Forgive me for being a coward and hiding behind the mask of parchment and ink—but somehow I know you will understand the necessity of my clandestine behavior.  
  
Whoever you are, Bulma of a lost empire, I do love you still. Do not blame yourself for my injustices to myself. These are my choices alone and I will not have your heart weighed down by them. You are meant to have a full and fruitful life; your children will carry on your legacy and flourish as you shall. I have no doubts of your future happiness, especially with this new husband of yours. He seems the perfect match for my devious older sister. I mean nothing ill by my letter; I only wish for you to know that you were the last person I thought of. Not mother. Not father. Not even my fair Juri, who could never understand—I love her now as I have always loved her, and I hope that she will find a husband worthy of her love. It is you, dear sister, who are in my final thoughts. I thank you for the time we shared. I pray you will never forget your hellish younger brother.  
  
With Love and Devotion,  
Your Cherished Brother,  
Tadao  
  
"Take me to him," Bulma whispered as she lifted her head, her cheeks stained with invisible tears.  
  
"Bulma, I strongly advise—"  
  
"I will find his body with or without your assistance, Eizo!" she snapped. "Take me to him now."  
  
Eizo nodded sadly and took Bulma's hand. There was no doubt in his mind that she would never forget the sight. He never would…  
  
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---Chapter 5!!! Holy Kami! That was unexpected! I just thought of that last part like 5 minutes before writing it. That was completely unplanned, but I like it. More drama! Muhahaha!  
  
REVIEW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (ReviewsMore Chapters)  
  
Next time: Bulma and Vegeta get settled in the Cold Empire. How will her grief for her brother effect their lives?—Find out! 


	6. Secret No More

Last time:

"I will find his body with or without your assistance, Eizo!" she snapped. "Take me to him now."

Eizo nodded sadly and took Bulma's hand. There was no doubt in his mind that she would never forget the sight. He never would…

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Bulma's first night in the new palace was difficult to say the least. Luckily, King Frieza was away on business and so she had some time to recover from her grief before having to perform for her father-in-law. Vegeta, being her trusted caretaker, ordered his servants to be at the ready 'round the clock incase his wife should need the slightest thing. Bulma never made a peep, and within two days was somewhat thinner and gruesomely pale.

"Woman, your grief is so unbecoming," Vegeta said, leaning against her doorframe. There was no way she could keep him from the room they shared, and so she stayed curled on their bed, which, as of now, they had not shared. He was being patient with her, though he reminded her several times a day that they must consummate their marriage. And then there was of course getting into routine, and making their first public appearance as man and wife. "Your eyes are red and swollen, your face is long and pale, and I swear I can see your bones under your skin. I don't think you would want me to force food down your throat."

Bulma grimaced at the thought of food, forcing her eyes away from her husband.

"In two hours your new maid will bring you a tray of food and drink. If in three hours that tray is not wiped clean, by you, I will take this matter into my hands," he said angrily, reaching for the door handle. "I will not have my queen starve herself over something as inevitable as death."

A soft clock told Bulma that he was gone. She burst into a fit of tears, exhausting herself. The last thing she remembered as she drifted off was a strand of blue hair in her eyes.

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By the end of the week, Bulma was plump looking, as a queen should be, her face soft and lovely. She was now eating regularly, with her husband, as was fit. They talked little, and when they did, Bulma ignored any and all insults, refusing to fight with this man who had taken her from her home.

"What are your parents to do?" Vegeta asked, leaning his elbow on the linen covered table. A piece of mutton dangled from his fingertips. Bulma thought it barbaric the way men ate.

"Regarding what, my lord?" she replied politely. She sipped her wine lightly, letting the cold red liquid coat her tongue before she swallowed. Wine was something she would never tire of.

"Your perilous brother, of course."

Bulma stiffened noticeably, setting her goblet down. It was the first time Tadao had been mentioned as the source of her grief. For a week it had been grief this, and death that.

"As tradition goes," she said stiffly, her lips tight, "they will have another son to carry on the family bloodline. If they cannot, my father shall choose a prince to rule in his stead. Surely you know this, lord."

Vegeta smiled wickedly, then nodded. Of course he knew the policy of tradition. He was going to have to find another way to get a rise out of her. Surely she was sensing something about him that troubled her, made her think that she knew him. If only he could spark her memory without actually having to reveal his secret. He wondered if she knew that he knew hers.

"That hair looks so dreadful on you," he commented. "It doesn't match your eyes at all."

"Forgive my genes, sir."

Vegeta frowned. Very well, today was not his day.

"But I'm sure you have had many comments on yours eyes in the past."

"You are correct, sir." She had stopped eating all together. It was more than obvious that this conversation was unnerving to her. He decided, for his kingdom's sake, and the sake of his own sanity, that he shouldn't push her anymore tonight.

"Well, my wife," he said, standing. He wiped his hands quickly on a napkin and tossed it aside. A servant came rushing to retrieve it; Bulma frowned. It was very clear that men ruled this palace. Her "mother" never would have stood for such. "I'm retiring to train for the evening." He kissed her cheek lightly, lingering a little to long for her comfort, as he breathed deep her sweet smell. "You should expect me in our chambers at midnight. Do try to be lively this time."

He was gone before she could protest.

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The messenger had only taken an hour and a half to deliver the note and return to the palace, Eizo following on his heels. He embraced Bulma quickly at the back entrance, where she'd instructed the messenger to bring him. He hadn't the faintest idea why she called him so urgently to come.

"I was in the middle of a meeting with the king and queen," Eizo said as Bulma shut and bolted the door behind them. One look around and he knew he was in a random guest chamber, one that was most likely very far from where she knew her husband to be. "They did not appreciate being hurried, what with the condition their kingdom is in."

"Sir," Bulma sighed, her back against the door. "I hope you are not referring to my late brother in such an offhanded manner."

"I only meant that I can see no urgency here." He bowed his head slightly. Of course there was; she needed him now more than she even had in all the years they'd known each other.

Suddenly Bulma was in front of him, her arms latched around his neck, lips pressed to his with fiery lust. He understood instantly; she needed a release from her pain, a way, if only for a moment, to forget her life and just feel.

"How long will your husband not be a concern?" Eizo asked breathlessly, his hands already at work on her tight silky garments. How he loathed the traditional dress of women at these moments.

"We have until eleven," she breathed, helping him with her clothes. "He will be in our chambers at midnight. I would like to look presentable."

"Two hours?" He kissed her deeply as he carried her light body to the bed, lying her down, her clothes seeming to melt away. "If that is all I can have, my queen," he whispered, "then I will take it every time."

"This will endure for as long as it can. When my husband catches wind of my affair, you are to show your face as usual and make him believe that you have nothing to hide."

"And after that, my dear?" He ran his tongue along her neck, suckling at the smooth flawless skin. It had been ten days since he had been with her; his loins were in agony. Until he was wed, he would take no other woman to bed.

A seductive grin spread across her features. "After that day we shall have to be more careful."

The massive brass clock struck eleven far too soon for the adulterous pair. Eizo practically collapsed atop Bulma, covering her with sweaty kisses, his hands running playfully through her hair. After five times, and much foreplay, neither was tired and both were thirsty for more; more love, more flesh, more of the past. Their lives were moving too fast for them to keep up.

"Once more, my love," he whispered huskily into her ear. He kissed her flushed cheeks, her drooping eyelids, her tender lips. He never wanted to leave with musty velvet-covered bed. "My hunger can never be satisfied of you."

"Then once more will do nothing for your hunger, my foolish prince." She kissed him back, almost roughly, and sat up, not caring that her breasts were bare and free, a light sheen of sweat covering her entire body. She would need to bathe before going to bed. "Now you will always know the reason behind my secret correspondences," she said, rather brashly, as she stood and retrieved her crumpled outer garment. She slipped it over her shoulders, allowing it to hang open, her precious nakedness still very much visible and positively maddening to her bedmate. It seemed not to faze her in the least that it was ruined and she had no explanation for its appearance. "Will you bathe with me, sweet prince? I fear your coach will give way to gossip if he takes one look at your unruly hair."

"When will I see you again, Bulma?" He stood, wrapping his arms around her hot form. If he pressed it, she would have him again.

"That name," she whispered, shying away. "Would I could hear it from everyone's lips."

"Forgive me. I meant no injury."

"No apologies are needed with me. Now come. I've seen Aneko draw a bath before. I'm sure it is not difficult."

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"Thank you, Koto," Vegeta said gruffly, slipping his trusty messenger a few gold coins. It was more than enough to feed his family for months. "You are an honorable servant. I will not forget this."

"Thank you, sire," Koto said, bowing low at the waist as he backed out of the training room.

"So she thinks she can hide her lover from me, does she?" he chuckled softly, wiping sweat from his forehead. "Well, we shall see about that my queen. Get comfortable. I shall have my justice."

He padded across the room to a barrel that had been cut in half and filled, on the hour, with cool, refreshing water. He cupped his hands, having no need for a crude wooden cup or spoon, and drank deeply. His immediately reaction to his new wife's infidelities angered him to his very core. Though now, as the icy water rushed down his throat to soothe his thirst, he found his heart had been the organ wounded. For eight years he had waited for a sign that he would have her as his queen, but now, after the wedding ceremony, she was no more his than she ever was. He was going to have to do so much more to win her trust, her heart.

He frowned and shook his head sadly. He saw no possible way he could ever accomplished such a task.

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It was one month to the day that Princess Nyoko and Prince Yukio had been joined together, and still their wedding bed was untouched. In that time, Bulma had snuck Eizo into the palace three times, each time thinking she was safe and secure with the messenger she chose. Vegeta was growing increasingly agitated with the situation. How long did she think she could commit such heinous deeds and go unpunished?

One evening he could stand it no longer. She sat across from him, per usual, picking at her meat with delicate fingers, then wiping them immediately with her napkin. He would have to find some utensils for her; how she hated to eat this way. It was so unnerving to him to watch her like this, sitting there so properly, as if all were normal.

"I told you once before, Princess, that you were not sweet," Vegeta said, sitting back, his goblet clutched in his massive hands.

"What relevance does such a rude comment have, my lord?" she asked, giving a small smile.

"It is very relevant, my dear," he laughed coldly. "The moment our vows were spoken, you were supposed to have become completely obedient to me. And while I believe that sort of thing is outdated, I do, as your husband, expect a certain degree of respect."

"Your meaning throws me, lord." But he could see the fear in her eyes.

"Unless I am training, you are to be at my side at all times, is that clear?"

Bulma nodded, bowing her head slightly.

"And when I am training, you are to have a chaperone."

"A chaperone!? My lord! What for? Am I not a grown woman, capable of fending for herself in her own palace?"

"But you forget, Princess." He leaned in and brushed his knuckles across her smooth pale cheek. "This is my palace, therefore my rules."

"I demand to know why I am being treated like a dog."

"Surely you already know," he chuckled deeply, giving her a rough kiss on the lips. "I can taste his vile breath on your lips."

Bulma's eyes widened, but she didn't say a word. He knew! How could he know!?

"If you see that man one more time," he breathed, teeth clenched, lips back, "I will not hesitate to expose you."

"Very well," she sighed, composing herself. "At least give me a chance to tell him. He has a right to know."

"He has a right to be beheaded by me for such an injustice," Vegeta snapped, slamming his hand on the table. "But," he said, sitting back, arms folded loosely across his chest, "I will be lenient with you this one time." Bulma sighed with relief, placing her delicate little hand on his. He withdrew as if she'd harmed him. "Send him a letter, but never again am I to hear that you two were alone together, even for a moment."

"You must understand, lord," Bulma ventured, "how difficult it is for me to live in a palace I do not know, with servants whose names I can scarcely remember. I had only wished to have some…comfort of home…Forgive me."

"Would the presence of your old chamber maid amend this discomfort?"

Bulma's eyes brightened; it took all Vegeta's strength to not reach across the table and grab her, to kiss her with all the passion that boiled relentlessly inside him.

"Lord," she whispered, holding her hand to her chest as if her breath had gone out of her. "You would arrange that?"

"My queen is unhappy," he stated. "It is my job as your husband to correct this."

On the other side of the room, where the entrance was, a servant came dashing in, clutching an envelope to his chest. He was pale and gasping when he reached the table. He bowed to both the prince and the princess, then handed the envelope to Vegeta.

"My lord," he said, bowing lower. The moment Vegeta's fingers began to unseal the letter, his servant backed away and left.

"Perfect," he groaned, after only skimming the message.

"What news, sir?" Bulma asked, leaning in.

"The king is returning tomorrow." He threw the letter down. "A month early. How like him to disrupt my time alone."

"You have a quarrel with your father, my lord?"

"Call me Ve—" He stopped short, lowering his eyes. "Yes, a great quarrel, though nothing that would interest you, my queen."

Bulma frowned. She stood from her seat and came around the side of the small crude table, resting her hands on his broad shoulders. Even if he was a rude and thankless man, she could not deny her physical attraction to him. Perhaps tonight she would give him what he desired. It was the least she could do as his wife.

She leaned her head in, brushing her lips lightly across his ear.

"Forgive my forwardness, my liege," she whispered huskily, her hand traveling across his shoulder and into the deep V of his collar. "Tonight, when you come into our chamber from your rigorous training, you shall not find your bride in a slumber or exhausted from the day's events." She took her other hand and gently pulled his face towards her, kissing him fervently. It was not until his hand reached up to the back of her head that she truly realized what she was doing. She excused herself quickly, and hurried out of the room, leaving her husband in a sensual daze. Maybe he would skip his training secession tonight.

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"You are allowed to kiss him," Bulma reassured herself as she paced her chamber, her slippered feet scuffing the floor as she walked. "He is your husband, your lord. You should have certain feelings for him. It is natural." But she could not stop thinking of his attitude, his rudeness, the way he treated her as more of a dog than a mate.

And then, as her pace slowed and she stopped, her hand grasping the bedpost, she thought of Eizo. If Yukio did not know about her affair, then Eizo would be the man she shared her bed with tonight. It had been two days since she had seen him, and her body ached for a release. She felt hopelessly guilty having seduced Yukio into their bed, though what had Eizo expected? That they never consummate? That they never have heirs and continue the family line?

"No," she said firmly, her eyebrows knitted. "He is my husband. I shall feel no guilt or no remorse."

Suddenly there was a noise at the door. Bulma looked up as the heavy wooden slab slowly creaked open. She was surprised to see Yukio standing in the doorway, his crown gleaming beautifully in the candlelight.

"Sire," she said, bowing her head slightly.

He shut and bolted the door without saying a word, then advanced in her direction, his strides small and calculated. When he reached her, he placed one hand on her shoulder, pushing the flimsy silk nightgown down to her elbow. He did not look at her when his hand traveled to the other shoulder, and gently slipped the other side to the elbow, exposing her plump round breasts completely. When he finally looked up, he expected to see a blush in her cheeks, but they were as pale as ever.

"You are an amazing woman," he whispered, kissing her feverishly, his warm hands pressed against her bare back. "But I must confess something first." His eyes turned drastically from passionate to almost sad.

"You are allowed to have your secrets, lord," she breathed, her passion mounting. Silence! She wanted to shout.

"This you have to know." His face was nestled in the crook of her neck.

"Please." She kissed him roughly, her hands up on his face. "Words can wait."

He nodded knowingly and pulled her close.

Finally, he thought, his lips pressed to her warm skin. But she still didn't know…

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---Chapter 6!! Woo! Vegeta's getting' him some! :P But when will he tell her his true identity? And what will her reaction be? Will she remember her past then?

REVIEW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (ReviewsMore Chapters)

Next time: How will Eizo take Bulma's news? And what about King Frieza?

Special Thanks To My Beta: Lollybear07 :) 


	7. Old Love, New Love

Last time:

"Please." She kissed him roughly, her hands up on his face. "Words can wait."

He nodded knowingly and pulled her close.

Finally, he thought, his lips pressed to her warm skin. But she still didn't know…

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The arrival of King Frieza was extravagant, to say the least. In a carriage trimmed in gold and laced in silk and velvet, he rode in, his figure concealed behind a curtain of midnight black. Only when he was beyond the castle walls, did he draw the curtain back and allow the lords and ladies to see him in all his glory.

His son was not there to greet him.

"My lord," said a lady in green velvet as the carriage slowed. "What an unexpected surprise. I hope it is that you missed your kingdom that you are home so early."

"Yes, milady," he said, his voice low and soft. "It is always so dreadful to be away for so long." She fluttered her eyelashes at him, and turned away. The carriage moved on. "I shall not forget her face," he said to himself, making a mental note of her lustrous brown curls and soft green eyes.

"I can find out her name, my lord," said the driver, bringing the carriage to a halt just before the palace. "I see her many times in the village."

"Very good, Ryobe." He pulled a bag of coins from his carrying sack and dropped them on the seat, then exited the cabin. His insolent son would be in the castle, no doubt, his bride crushed against him. He wondered how long it took him to get the fiery little fox into bed. Surely she has not let him touch her for some time. Or maybe at all. Perhaps Vegeta was cavorting around the city, at this very moment, in search of any woman with a beautiful face and a desperate need for money.

The king laughed softly to himself. It would be so fitting for the ingrate to have to search for pleasure. Ah, what justice it was when he told him who his bride would be. The horror in his eyes had been priceless. Oh, to see that look again.

"Ryobe," Frieza called over his shoulder, his long white hair brushing his face. But he was not old by any means. "Inform my son and his stunning wife that I am requesting their presence in the throne room. Have a maid prepare some tea for the lady. And make sure it is done in haste."

The coach nodded and bowed deeply. The stable boy would take care of the horses and carriage.

"Oh, one more thing, my good man," the king said, slipping a few more gold coins into Ryobe's large pockets. "Be sure to tell my beautiful daughter-in-law that she need not primp herself in my presence. I wish to see her true face, not some mask of white paste."

"Very well, my lord." He hurried up the steps and through the massive doorway. King Frieza followed slowly, taking each step almost carefully.

"I wonder," he whispered to himself, his hand on the doorframe.

"Yes, my lord?" came the familiar voice of his personal servant, Goro.

"Nothing, Goro," he said, a small smile playing on his lips. "I was only thinking aloud."

"Of course, my lord. Is there anything I can assist you with?"

"No. Thank you, Goro. You have my permission to take your leave now."

"Thank you, sir. And welcome home."

"Yes, I have so missed my kingdom…and my son."

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Bulma eyed her reflection almost suspiciously, tilting her head to the side, her fingers wound tight around the spare piece of ribbon she held.

"Are you certain?" she asked, sitting back.

"Yes, very certain," her temporary maid said. Aneko would arrive within the week. "Ryobe said you must not wear your white make-up to be presented to the king. He wishes to see your real skin, milady."

Bulma frowned softly. Was she acceptable like this? Was she beautiful? Would the king think her hideous and demand she return to her room and make herself up? Vegeta certainly had no problem with her clean face. She smiled at the mere thought of him, her cheeks burning red. She hadn't known she could experience such pleasure with anyone but Eizo. Vegeta had certainly proved that wrong the night before; her mind was still reeling from it. But could there be something deeper for her with this new man? Could she find with him what she had not with Eizo? Or was she doomed to never have what no royals had?

"What makes you blush, milady?" her maid asked, leaning closer. "You have the most beautiful face I have seen. Surely you are not embarrassed to go out this way."

"No, not anymore," she said, setting the ribbon on her dressing table. She stood and nodded at her maid, giving her silent permission to leave. She would wait here for her husband, as was expected. But she wanted to be alone when he arrived.

Bulma found her stationary and a fresh bottle of ink on the bureau across the room. Should she write now to Eizo and explain her husband's decree? She didn't know how long he would be, and certainly he shouldn't see the words she meant to write her former lover.

"Former lover," she whispered, lifting the quill pen. That was all Eizo was and could be now. An acquaintance she would only see at balls and other such royal functions. But her lover? Her friend? No, not even that, for the old emotions would surface and he would be in great danger. She doubted not her husband's power and feared his anger to a certain degree. If she had to sever her bond with Eizo to ensure his survival, then so be it. It was a price she was willing to pay, for who deserved a crown more than her belovéd Eizo? For so many years he'd lectured her passionately, spilling his heart and his mind. There was so much he had planned for his future kingdom; the things he wanted to do just so his people could live and eat well. History would remember him maybe as Eizo the Great, Eizo the Generous, or perhaps Eizo the True King. Whole books would be written about him; future kings would follow his example and aspire to be but a fraction like him. And he would be loved. And in the end, that was the greatest thing for him.

It was time for her to say good-bye.

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Quickly, she re-read the letter then folded it neatly. She poured hot wax to seal it, then stamped it with the appropriate symbol. Eizo would know it was from her immediately. He would tear it open, his eyes shining, and read the words she had written and chosen so carefully. And then he would fold it back up, slip it into his royal robe, and pretend until he was alone that the words had not shattered his soul.

To My Belovéd and Cherished Lover,

I miss you so, as I am sure I am missed by you. And while I treasure our time together and count the seconds until I shall see you again, I dread the future and all it holds. It has been brought to the attention of my husband, though by whom I am unsure, that his good wife is unfaithful and lies regularly in the arms of another man. When confronted with these obvious truths, I was shocked and afraid and struggled to hold my head high. I did not, as one would assume, deny the adulterous acts. I could not have lived in this palace; I could not face my own husband, if I had attempted to deny such wonderful truths. And I could not face you either, for denying our couplings would be to deny a part of myself. I regret not the time we spent together, but the rashness in which we spent it. We were not careful, so heavy was our passion, and now we shall pay for our misdeeds.

Forgive me, my love, that I must write these words and know full well the pains I have delivered. If there were any way I could see that we could be together in secret, I would arrange it and this letter may have been an invitation into my arms. That is not the case, however, and so with a wounded soul and a sour disposition, I leave you forever. I beg you, do not think it is my intention to injure you! I aim to save you and the life you shall have with a good and loving queen. Yours will be a story told for millennia to come; your name will be on the lips of the future, and your people will love you ad infinitum.

I will always carry with me the memories of you and I. I shall never forget your face and the joy you have given me. You will always be in my heart, good Prince, but never again my lover, and never again my friend. Our correspondences must not continue, and if we do meet again in the distant future, we should regard one another as honorable royals and fair acquaintances, though nothing more. The past we shared must be mute on our lips. We shall dance, and compliment, and laugh. We shall smile and nod to one another across a crowded room. And we shall hide forever the deep and cruel pain that lies at the core of our souls. For the future we shall do these things, and for the past we shall cry alone and silently.

Never, even for a moment, think that I have forgotten you and do not love you with all I possess. That is as impossible as traveling through the past to forge a new path for our lives that would undo all this hurt and suffering. It is on this somber note that I must end this final letter. Would that I could pour my entire heart out in brilliant symbols, stretching on for miles and filling you, if only for a moment, with the most luscious happiness. Please, be content in knowing that we both suffer, and that we both must carry on for the sake of our kingdoms.

I do not doubt that you will be the grandest king the world has ever known.

With Memories In My Heart,  
Your Sorrowful Princess,  
Bulma

Just as the door began to creak open, Bulma tucked the letter between a stack of books and straightened herself up. It was Yukio, in a robe of midnight black, and a blue velvet cape draped over his broad shoulders. There was a deep frown on his lips and he would not look her directly in the eye.

"Is there a problem, my lord?" she asked, approaching him slowly. How divinely seductive he looked in his finery. She envisioned herself removing his clothing layer by layer, with agonizing slowness, until he could stand it no longer and ripped the garments from his body. It brought a small lustful smile to her lips.

"You know of the king's request, woman," he snapped, lifting his eyes. "To him I owe all my distain."

Bulma bowed her head and nodded. It was then that Yukio stepped forward and lifted her chin with his finger.

"You wear no make-up for the king?" he asked, as if offended, though his voice only showed her acute curiosity.

"He has requested it, my lord. I did not wish to upset him."

"Of course," he sighed, dropping his hand. He leaned in, their lips almost touching, and then turned away. Would she ever be able to know the constant turmoil that coursed through his veins? If only there were some simple and painless way in which to tell her. But now was not the time.

Suddenly he felt her small arms around him, her cheek pressed against his back. He raised his hand to grasp her arm, to hold it firmly. But he pulled it away instead and walked out into the hall. She followed, as was her decree, but kept a noticeable distance. It was plain to her now that he harbored some terrible remembrances, and that if she tried to push him to speak she may lose him forever. And it occurred to her suddenly, that it would upset her greatly if she should lose him in any way. But surely this was not the love she had heard so much about from her devoted nurse, Aneko. She hardly knew her husband. But, at the same time, she could not deny the strong and definite connection that they shared.

Yukio stopped abruptly at a set of doors Bulma had passed several times though never entered. The guards outside nodded respectfully at the couple, then granted them entrance. Yukio quickly pulled Bulma close to him as they approached the elevated thrones. The king resembled no image Bulma had formed in her mind of what he could look like. He was far too young, certainly, to be the father of her husband. His brilliant white hair was obviously premature, though it gave him a stunning grace that few royals possessed. She could not see what angered Yukio so about this man.

"Ah, my Kami," King Frieza whispered, rising to greet his son and daughter-in-law. "Why, my dear princess, you are more lovely than any painting I have seen. May I say that?"

"Of course, my lord," Bulma said sweetly, bowing her head in reverence. Yukio still clutched her arm, as if letting go would somehow weaken him in the presence of his father. "And may I say that you look far too young to have fathered a son of Yukio's age."

The king smiled warmly and extended his hand to Bulma. She pulled her arm free from her husband and clasped her father-in-law's hand. Instantly she was pressed against him, in a strong and almost urgent embrace. She wondered vaguely what means he implored to seek his own pleasurable release. And what had become of the queen that was Yukio's mother? She dared not ask so soon in her relationships with these new royals.

"Your affection surprises me, my lord," she said as he released her.

"Forgive my forwardness," he said, bowing his head slightly.

"No, no. I meant it with kindness. Forgive my tone."

Behind them, Yukio scoffed.

"Welcome home father," he said crossly, crossing his large arms over his muscular chest. "The kingdom has missed you."

"But not my own son?" the king asked, his embittered voice betraying the benevolence he had displayed for Bulma's sake. He stepped forward and leaned close to Yukio's ear. "And what have you been doing in my absence, my son? Buying whore upon whore with the purse I gave you?" The words were not meant to be heard by the princess, but the aggression of his voice would not permit his volume to lower to the pitch he desired.

"My desire, father," Yukio sneered, keeping his voice respectfully low, though he knew Bulma could hear quite clearly, "is fulfilled most perfectly by my wife and by no other. With any luck, I shall have an heir by next thaw."

The king took a step back and sighed. Bulma could almost feel the intensity of their anger; it seemed to radiate off of them as if it were precious heat on a cold winter night. And she almost shivered, but then managed to compose herself and give a little cough to catch their attention.

"The tea has arrived, my lords," she said, unable to conceal her little smile. She motioned to the maid who bustled into the room, her large silver tray heavy with the kettle and teacups and small bite-sized cakes the monarchs so love. King Frieza approached the fidgety young girl, guiding her to the appropriate table. She seemed afraid of this man, who had displayed nothing but pure gentleness to Bulma. Of course there was the obvious and deep malice towards his son, but she possessed that as well with her own guardian. She would have to see what developed in the future, for as of this moment, she saw herself loving her new king like a father.

"Nyoko, my dear," the king said, extending his arm to her. She took his hand and allowed him to seat her at the table. The maid, eyeing the group of them with nothing short of suspicion, poured their tea and served their cakes, then shuffled quickly out of the expansive high-ceilinged room.

Bulma lifted her cup with dainty fingers, taking a small sip of the steaming liquid. When she had first arrived here she feared her life would be permanently disrupted and morphed into something hideous and altogether wrong. Last night, in the arms of her husband, her breathing heavy and her brow moist with sweat, she pondered that maybe her first assumption had been terribly wrong. Now, as she sat at this tea table, her husband to her right and her king to her left, her mind swirled and meshed the two possibilities together until she could recognize neither and her head throbbed.

"Will you please excuse me gentlemen?" she said, rising, her palm pressed against her forehead. "I suddenly feel faint. I must lie down before supper." The king rose, as was proper, and kissed her hand tenderly. Yukio stayed seated, his miniscule meal untouched.

"Of course, my dear," Frieza said. "I'm sure your husband would escort to your chamber."

"No, that is not ne—"

"It is an utmost necessity," Yukio said. He stood and gripped Bulma's arm almost firmly. "Come, lady." Before she could bid her father-in-law farewell, she was already in the hall, her husband practically dragging her along. It was now, more than ever, that she knew she should fear this man. But in her soul, she believed she would love him more than anything. And for that she was forever grateful.

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Eizo skirted the walls, taking great strides towards the front hall. When the door opened and the servant backed in carrying an armload of letters and packages, he nearly threw himself at him, demanding that the servant hand over anything addressed to him immediately. He had not meant to be so harsh, but it had been four days since he'd heard from his secret lover.

Carefully, he broke the seal and unfolded the letter. What a blessing it was to simply see her writing on that paper. And then he absorbed the meaning of the words. He stumbled backwards, nearly knocking into a passing servant. He found the nearest wall and leaned into it, least he fall and cause an uproar in a palace that was already slowly crumbling. First his lovely sister lost her bridegroom-to-be, and now, having read the contents of the letter, he was doomed to endure an equally agonizing fate.

Selfishly, his first thought was what Tadao's first and final thought had been; an end to the pain and sadness. But, as his eyes scanned the paper once more, he could not ignore her last statement, that was more of a wish and a plea: "I do not doubt that you will be the grandest king the world has ever known."

He shoved the letter into his robe and took a deep breath. For her he would press on and do his utmost to fulfill her prophecy. But, for the sake of sorrow, he would never get rid of her letter and the pain it brought with it.

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Vegeta paced the length of their chamber, his wife sitting idly on the edge of the bed, her hands folded neatly in her lap as she awaited his words. Two days before, after their tea with the king, he had informed her that very soon he would need to discuss something important with her. It was more than obvious that that's what he had brought her in here for. Secretly, however, she wished he would use no words as he had two days before, and they ended up in a tangle of blankets and limbs. Simply the thought of it made her warm, but then her thoughts drifted towards her old life and the old lover she had left behind. Surely he had received her letter by now.

She sighed deeply and stood, pausing her husband mid-stride.

"Tell me what is on your mind, lord," she said. It occurred to her then that she had never once called her husband by his name. It seemed an improper thing, though she knew it was not. And then she realized that he had never called her her supposed name either.

"I know things about you that you would never guess," he said, wanting to grab her and hold her close. Instead, he turned away and took a seat at the desk. "So much you have not a clue about and I am ordered not to tell you."

Bulma's brow furrowed and she eased herself back onto the bed. What could he possibly know? Had she guessed correctly when she said she'd been captured by an enemy family? Could his father have had some hand in it? She frowned deeper at such a wild and callous thought. King Frieza was a kind and gentle man to her. He would not have done such an atrocious deed.

"If I cannot know, then why bring it up?" she inquired, keeping her eyes low. She did not want to see sadness if that's what his face showed; and she did not want to see the usual anger, either. Rather she would pretend he was content and placid.

"Why do you make me want to harm you?" he sighed, leaning back in the chair. Bulma chanced a glance at him and regretted it immediately. The fiery anger in his eyes burned as fiercely as ever. She wondered how she was supposed to come to love a man who was never the same each day, who drove to hurt her intentionally, while at the same time he could be the most tender man she would ever know. "I will speak when I choose to speak," he snapped, startling her slightly. She unfolded her hands and placed them at her sides, as if she meant to push herself up and run away at any moment. "Be the obedient wife everyone expects you to be."

"I have been patient with you from the beginning," Bulma suddenly said, her voice hard and angry. How dare he speak to her that way! "But now it seems your true self shines through and I am heartbroken to learn how cruel and irregular you really are. My lord you are not if you continue to treat me like a piece of auction-able property. I am your wife, sir! Your queen, and as such I demand respect as readily as you do!" She was standing again, her fists clenched at her sides. Her face was warm with fury, and it felt all the more stifling under her mask of make-up. Feverishly, she wiped at the white paste and powder with her hands and sleeves. But she only managed to smudge it.

Across the room Vegeta sighed and stood. He found the washing basin and set it on the table beside the bed. He took a small cloth moist with cool water and brought it slowly to her face. Her first reaction was to back away, and when she did she tumbled backwards onto the bed. Vegeta chuckled softly in his throat and sat beside her, stroking the cloth almost lovingly over her face until it was completely clean.

"You are the only woman who can make me laugh and feel some degree of happiness," he said, dropping the cloth to the floor. He cupped Bulma's chin in his hand and kissed her lips gently. "I know that you trained in your old kingdom." She closed her eyes as if he meant to strike her. When his lips made contact with hers once more, she opened her eyes and stared up at him. "It does not anger me," he assured her. "Maybe some day you will be an admirable opponent for me."

"This is what you meant to tell me?" she asked finally, her heart fluttering.

He hesitated a moment, as if he were struggling with his words, and then he simply said, "Yes."

"And may I train here now as well?"

He smirked down at her, brushing her cheek with the back of his hand.

"How else are you going to be admirable?" he laughed. She knew he was mocking her slightly, though he meant it when he said she could be a great fighter, and for a moment she struggled against him. But then his hand traveled up into her hair and she was forced to focus on the situation at hand.

"Do not mess my hair, my lord," she whispered huskily, playfully. Inside she was terrified. She would have to be more careful in their couplings. He simply smiled at her and obeyed, as if he understood the urgency behind such a silly request.

"Very well, princess," he sighed. "Are their any other restrictions I must abide?"

"No, dear prince. Do with me what you please."

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---Chapter 7!! Hmm, I can't figure what happened in this chapter that was really that profound. I swear next time a lot more will happen :) Damn Vegeta for not telling her his real name—he was so close!

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Next time: How can Eizo go on without Bulma? When will Bulma find out Yukio is really Vegeta? And when will she learn how truly evil King Frieza is???

Thank You So Much: Lollybear07 (My Beta :P) 


	8. Vegeta, The Traitor

Last time:

"Do not mess my hair, my lord," she whispered huskily, playfully. Inside she was terrified. She would have to be more careful in their couplings. He simply smiled at her and obeyed, as if he understood the urgency behind such a silly request.

"Very well, princess," he sighed. "Are their any other restrictions I must abide?"

"No, dear prince. Do with me what you please."

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Bulma wiped her brow and grinned. How exhilarating it was to be training again. After nearly two months of doing virtually nothing, her moves were a little rusty, but nothing some intense training couldn't fix. She had requested a trainer, though her husband had offered to give her the lessons himself; there was something altogether wrong about such a situation to her. Besides, she was coming to like this man, and the last thing she wanted was King Frieza finding out about her training, and the fact that Yukio knew; then they would both be in trouble.

"That was most excellent, milady," the young trainer said. After searching for three days, Kan Morisue was the only trainer who would train a female for the price Prince Yukio was offering. Most of the older trainers were traditional, and, as tradition went, women were not allowed to engage in any such activities. "Your skills seemed to have improved since yesterday."

"I stayed much later after you left, master," she said, bowing low at the waist. A raw cramp shot through her abdomen, and, with all her strength, she was able to ignore it and complete the bow. "My good nurse found me at sunrise; my body must have given way to sleep without my knowledge."

"Milday," Kan said, a sudden look of alarm in his eyes. "Are you feeling well?"

"Well?" she laughed, crossing her arms over her chest. "Of course I'm well. How could I train if I were not well?"

"Forgive me, but I believe you should go rest. We can continue your training tomorrow."

Bulma's anger flared for a moment, and then she smiled and nodded.

"Very well. You are my master after all." She padded across the room to a washbasin, immersing a small clothe in the cool water. "You may leave now, Kan," she said, her voice carrying a certain sense of authority. Their secession was over, therefore she would not call him master, though that was not the reason at all; she was bitter with him for cutting her training short. "I look forward to our secession tomorrow." She lifted the clothe from the water, rung it, then dabbed her forehead and cheeks gently. "Good evening, Kan."

Kan nodded and bowed, exiting the room without objection.

It was two hours later that Aneko discovered Bulma in her training room, her body limp and lying on the floor.

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"I'm sorry, milady," Aneko said, struggling to suppress a giggle. "But if you do not agree to take leave of you training, I shall have to involve your husband."

Bulma snuck low in the steaming water of the tub. Her maid had still not told her why she could not train.

"I am not ill, nurse," she huffed.

"Oh yes you are." And this time she could not hold back her laughter.

"And just what is so funny about my being ill?"

"You have no disease, Madame. Your illness is by no means permanent, yet you shall live with the after effects until your dying day."

Bulma narrowed her eyes at her maid for jumping around the point so poetically.

"Nurse, I beg you, tell me what you know."

"Very well." She kneeled down beside the tub, placing a hand on Bulma's cheek. How she loved this girl; she was the daughter she never had. "Your illness shall bring great joy to your husband and your people. You, milady, shall have an heir."

Had her heart stopped?

Bulma looked into the wide, loving eyes of her maid, unable, for a moment, to give any sign that she had even heard. And then, very slowly, she looked down.

"I am with child?" she whispered, her hands instinctively going to her water-submerged belly.

Aneko nodded excitedly, giving Bulma a motherly kiss on the forehead. How to describe how eager and proud she was? But then Bulma already knew, didn't she? What other maid would leave the home she'd always known in favor of a strange and new place?

"I…I…" But the words were never there, and she fell to silence. Was she ready for a child? Society obviously believed she was. And her husband, how would he react?

And then the most horrific thought occurred to her. What if the child were not Yukio's? What if she and Eizo had not been as careful as they thought? And she realized that she would not be happy if the child were Eizo's.

Slowly, she stood, and with help from her nurse, stepped out of the tub and was wrapped in a great white linen towel. Without saying a word she was dressed for supper, trying her best to ignore the grin on Aneko's face, and the equally troubling ache in the pit of her stomach. She had never really thought of having children, until now, that is. Of course she knew that her day would come and she would have to bear heirs for her king, but the idea had seemed so distant.

"When should I tell Yukio?" she asked as Aneko finished adjusting the bow at the back of her dress.

"When you feel you should, my dear." Suddenly she hugged her, pressing her lips to her surrogate daughter's cheek. "I love you, Bulma. You will always be my daughter."

"And you will always be my mother…"

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Dining would never be the same for Bulma at the palace. Now that King Frieza was home, she could no longer dine with Yukio alone. And, not only did the king eat with them, in the grand dining hall, but the king's advisors, confidants, and closest friends. Instead of peace and quiet, she would have to endure with loud rambunctious drunken nobles. She was the only woman at the table.

"Lord, I must inquire about something," Bulma said, giving Yukio's arm a gentle tug. He turned immediately from his conversation with Lord Santo; obviously it was not important. "As I should be, I am fully aware of the observances in which I must be present."

Yukio frowned; he did not care for such things.

"Lord," she pressed, her hand now on his leg. "Is it not custom here for the newly wed Lord and Lady to present themselves to the people? I have not left the palace since the day I arrived."

Her prince went rigid under her touch, then turned away and continued to eat.

Bulma sighed and sat back. Perhaps she could get some answers out of the king the next time they were alone.

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"Six days, milady," Aneko scolded, cornering Bulma in her spacious closet. The young princess shrank between a rack of velvet dresses. "Six days you have known you are with child and you have yet to tell your husband."

"You said for me to tell him when I thought I should!" Bulma shot back. "I am not ready for a child, Aneko! I cannot be a mother so young!"

Aneko sighed and shook her head. Then, very gently, she pulled Bulma towards her and into a warm hug.

"Child," she said, stroking Bulma's long aqua locks. It was early morning, and so she was not yet made up for the day. "Dear princess. No woman is ever ready to become a mother, be assured of that. You are sixteen, and therefore the law states you are allowed to carry your husband's child…It is your husband's child?"

Bulma baulked and jumped back.

"Then you don't know?"

"I know that I want the child to be Yukio's," she sighed, crushing herself against her nurse. "Oh, mama, how could this have happened? I never wanted to be married!"

"Hush child. No one shall know this small fact. And when the child is born, you will know who the father is; I promise you."

"But how—"

"A mother's intuition is the strongest force on this planet, my dear…You will know."

Bulma considered this for a moment, then nodded and hugged her nurse tighter. After all, what else could she believe?

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Bulma tiptoed softly through the massive stonewalled corridors, the beating of her hear the only sound she heard. It was well passed midnight, and, since the moment she'd crawled into bed, training had been on her mind. So what if she was pregnant; she was going to train in secret then. Wouldn't her maid be miserable with worry when she found out? She wanted to laugh out loud at the thought of it. She would deserve it, Bulma thought, for giving such a decree.

She rounded the corner, and was ten paces from the trainer chamber, when suddenly she heard muffled voices. To be more exact, two people yelling at one another behind closed doors. Quickly, she changed her course, and followed the voices. She was led to the end of the corridor, a raw wooden door with hammer iron hinges. Pressing her ear to the door, she immediately knew who was behind it.

"You will give me more time, or I will not cooperate!" came the heated voice of her husband. What on earth could they be discussing that had him so fired up? If only there were a queen in which she could get this information.

"More time!" snapped King Frieza. The rage behind the voice nearly made Bulma stumble over. How cruel and ill-mannered he sounded. No wonder Yukio did not like this man. "I have given you more than enough time! Now, you will deliver the news, and then you and your fabulous little bride will present yourself in public. My people are getting restless!"

"Yes." Yukio's voice was lower, more calculated, but just as resentful. "I would imagine they are eager for my princess. After all they have heard of her, no wonder they are restless. The Dark Princess did not sit well with them."

Bulma's heart fluttered. The Dark Princess? Where had she heard that phrase before? Her past! She wanted now, more than ever, to grab hold of someone and demand the information. Someone had to know the full truth!

"Boy! Do not try my patience! I grow weary of you."

"YOU grow weary of ME?" the young prince laughed. "Ah, Frieza, how much you amuse me. You raped my mother, killed my father, stole me from my kingdom, and YOU are weary?"

"You would have been nothing if it were not for me!" the king countered.

Bulma held onto the wall for badly needed support. Raped? Killed? Kidnapped? Oh, how wrongly she had judged her king!

"If this was the only alternative, I would have gladly chosen nothing," Yukio sneered. There was the sound of sharp booted footsteps on the stone floor. Bulma tensed, and was about to flee, when the steps halted. "I will take all the time I wish with MY wife, Frieza. Push me and you shall know true wrath."

"One month," King Frieza said, his voice low, but very close to the door. Bulma knew she should run, but the conversation was simply too intriguing to do anything but stand and listen. "Then I will tell her myself."

"Very well, father," he mocked.

"Try not to fail me, again, Vegeta."

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Bulma was in her chambers before she knew she'd run. With her hands on her chest, her back to the door, she recounted the conversation, word for word, in her mind. It mattered not now that they had been speaking of her, and that she didn't know the context. Yukio, her husband, her prince, the future king of her new kingdom, was not Yukio at all!

Was that her heart in her ears? She wanted to throw herself on the floor and cry out. She knew this name, Vegeta, knew the face that went with it and all the things it represented. He was from her past! He had been there when she was a girl, fueling her desire to train. Did he know though? The full story? Or was he as clueless as she had been?

Angrily she went to her writing desk and pulled out a sheet of fresh paper. Quickly she scribbled "Vegeta: good or bad? Must find more." in small black ink letters. She slipped the paper under the mattress, and was about to fetch her diary, where she would recall the event in detail, when she heard his footsteps, and it was time for her to feign sleep. Faster than she'd ever dressed in her life, Bulma changed back into her night things, and crawled beneath the covers. Yukio, or rather the newly found Vegeta, entered the chamber not a moment later.

He disrobed in the far corner, after lighting a single candle. Bulma watched him from her place in the bed, at his almost hypnotic way of removing his clothing. His anger and sadness amplified his sensuality, and for a moment she did not think of what had just occurred.

After he pulled on his sleeping robe, he grabbed the candle, set it on the nightstand, then climbed into bed beside her. For sometime he simply lay there on his back, not touching her as he usually did whether she was sleeping or not; he lived for that closeness.

"Princess," he whispered suddenly, and Bulma could no longer pretend to be in a deep sleep. How in despair he sounded! She curled into him, her head on his chest.

"Yes sire?" she whispered back. She fought every urge in her body to not kiss him just then.

He opened his mouth to speak, but it was not with words he replied. Eagerly, he pulled her up, one hand immediately plunging between her legs. She cried out softly, unable, for a moment, to do anything but submit. And then she began to remove his robe, knowing he was naked beneath, her lips and teeth working expertly on his neck and collarbone. But when she mounted him, her full round breasts pressed against his chest, he resisted her roughness and rolled her onto her back. She was utterly confused, for so many nights before he had practically begged her to dominate him, and only after that would he give way to animal instincts and throw her down.

"Lord," she breathed, his mouth assaulted one strained pink nipple. "Lord, please." He raised his head, his face solemn, yet impassioned. "What is wrong?"

"I desire your flesh, princess," he said callously, ignoring her this time when she protested. He turned her over onto her stomach, one hand still cupping her breast. And then, grabbing a handful of her well-made black hair, he entered her, pumping into her almost savagely. She cried out hoarsely, in both pain and pleasure. When he would not abide her pleas to stop, for she knew he heard though her voice was muffled, she pushed herself up with all her strength, knocking him backwards and onto the floor. He stared angrily up at her for a moment, and then bowed his head, remaining on the floor, naked and covered in a thin layer of sweat.

"I must tell you something, lord," she said, her voice steady and cold. If she had known her wig was removed, she showed no signs of it. "I am with child now, as my nurse tells me. If you treat me in such a way again, I will not hesitate to castrate you. Am I clear?"

Vegeta nodded slowly, looking for all the world like a lost and desperate street child.

"I never meant to harm you," he said to the floor. The sudden sincerity in his voice made her want to run to him and envelope him in her arms. But she was the violated one, not he. And so she remained angry on the bed.

"Then tell me the truth!" she demanded. His head snapped up and he stared, wide-eyed at her. "I know who you are, Vegeta, and I am willing to bet my life that you know who I am as well." Without a word he stood, unashamed of his nakedness, and opened his arms, as if to say, "Yes, I am that evil, and so do what you will with me."

For nearly ten minutes the couple stewed in silence, staring at one another, their feelings boiling, simmering, then subsiding, only to recreate the cycle all over again. If he loved her at all, he showed it now in his submissive silence. If she loved him at all, she would not show it.

"You are a selfish man!" she hissed suddenly, climbing off the bed and advancing towards him, as if she meant to strike him.

"Bulma—"

"No! Do not speak to me!"

"I never—"

"Prince!"

"Let me tell you!"

She crossed her arms and stood back, nodding slowly. Yes, she would hear his words, and then she would never give him her kindness again. She listened intently to him as he spoke, his voice low and just slightly unsteady. She saw no tears, though she sensed they were there, or very near. When the elaborate and soul-shattering story came to an end, Vegeta looked up, withholding all emotion. He would not put her through the pain of conflict, of having to choose between anger and affection. She deserved her anger as surely as he deserved his for Lord Frieza.

"You say you hate this man who is your father, and yet you married me," she said after long, agonizing moments of silence. "You married me not because he decreed it, sir, but because it was your desire! I am forever regretful I was not assassinated with my true parents."

Vegeta made no attempt to correct her words.

"I am right then, sire?"

He nodded.

"I could have loved you, Vegeta, loved as Yukio, the brat prince, the arrogant and demanding husband. There was something so pure and innocent about your anger. I know now that the reason behind it is the grief you carry for the death of your true parents; I am not the only orphan in this marriage…After such humiliation, however, I find I shall never love as I dreamed. Hate shall consume my soul as it has for years, and I will die unhappy and bitter with the life I have led." Her arms were around him suddenly, and for a moment he couldn't breath, couldn't think. "Had you not been my prince, lord," she whispered, her lips grazing his ear. "Had I never laid eyes on you, and had my heart not already begun its inevitable coarse to love…Death I can handle, Vegeta. Heartbreak, however, shall create a permanent shadow over my soul." She kissed him roughly, then pulled away and went for the door. "I thank you kindly for those first months of ignorant bliss. They may catch me if I fall."

And then she was gone, and he knew there was no winning her back.

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---Chapter 8!!! Holy conflict! Holy angst! Holy lots of stuff :P Heehee. I hope everyone liked this. You can't expect me, Marci, to not have some kind of heartbreaking angst. I mean, come on, if any of you have read one of my other stories you should have predicted this, heehee :P

REVIEW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (ReviewsMore Chapters)

Next time: What is to come for the broken couple? And how will Frieza ultimately affect them?

Note: Sorry about the rape scene. Not quite the lemon people wanted, huh? I promise there will be a full one eventually though :) And no, Vegeta is not evil. You have to understand the time period we're in. Does that help any? I hope so!

THANK YOU Lollybear07 :D 


	9. I Hate Thee

Last time:

"I could have loved you, Vegeta, loved as Yukio, the brat prince, the arrogant and demanding husband. There was something so pure and innocent about your anger. I know now that the reason behind it is the grief you carry for the death of your true parents; I am not the only orphan in this marriage…After such humiliation, however, I find I shall never love as I dreamed. Hate shall consume my soul as it has for years, and I will die unhappy and bitter with the life I have led." Her arms were around him suddenly, and for a moment he couldn't breath, couldn't think. "Had you not been my prince, lord," she whispered, her lips grazing his ear. "Had I never laid eyes on you, and had my heart not already begun its inevitable coarse to love…Death I can handle, Vegeta. Heartbreak, however, shall create a permanent shadow over my soul." She kissed him roughly, then pulled away and went for the door. "I thank you kindly for those first months of ignorant bliss. They may catch me if I fall."

And then she was gone, and he knew there was no winning her back.

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Vegeta sat on their bed for a long while, his mind as hazy as his vision. He wasn't crying, however. He did not believe he could ever cry, even if he tried to force it. His expression of emotions had somehow been damaged over time and so all his turmoil boiled and rotted within.

And then the scene enveloped him, bombarding his brain as if he were still living the horror of what he had done. When had he lost control like that before? When had innocent others taken the brunt? When had Frieza's tyrannous cruelty driven him so far?

But he knew the answer.

It was her. Her mere presence that pushed his sanity to the limits. Ever since the king had given his decree, that he was to marry Princess Nyoko, his soul had been shaken. Nyoko? Bulma? Her? No! Not her! That could not have been what the plan was about. But how could he, a mere child, prevent their evil schemes? But he had tried, hadn't he? He was going to train her an hour earlier that night in hopes of taking her as far from the palace as possible. That had been a childish plan however, for the princess was never meant to die; only the king and queen, and there was no possible way he could have saved them. Acknowledging that he knew of the treasonous plan would land him at the tip of an angry sword.

His frustration at the entire situation, at his entire pathetic life, had been taken out on his wife, his princess and queen, the girl he had trained into the fighter she was today. He had trained. He had…

He bowed his head, snapping his eyes shut tight. He had betrayed the woman he was supposed to protect. His true father had been a harsh man, to say the least, but he had strong loyalties to his family and his allies. The Briefs had been his allies, before he and his wife were slain in cold, ruthless blood. The night he died he had written an urgent letter to King Briefs, warning him of King Frieza's deception. Unfortunately, the message never went further than his writing table. King Briefs was never warned, and some five years later their kingdom was attacked and Bulma was kidnapped.

For so long he had blamed himself for her misfortunes. But slowly, over time, he had come to realize that, as a boy, he had no say in what occurred in his life. Though now those crushing thoughts were returning. He could have avoided this horror for her, this marriage to him, to the kingdom that had destroyed both their families. If he had taken his life, or charged into one of the many tiny battles that constantly raged throughout the kingdom. Mini revolts that were put down immediately. Then Bulma would be married off to some other prince, a man with no connection to her past, a man who could not hurt her so deeply when their past was revealed.

He wondered suddenly where she had stormed off to, and realized just as suddenly that it would undoubtedly be here training chamber. And while he knew that it was not right for a woman in her condition, he also knew that if she did not get out much of her aggression, and soon, she might very well harm herself and their ever-growing child.

And then his breathing came to a halt, his eyes snapped open, and he could not force himself to stay seated, to stay away from his wife. Of course an heir was something to be overjoyed about, but he was not in the way most kings were. Ever since he had come to live with Frieza, it was his wish that he could have a son that would be powerful and aid him in the destruction of his pseudo grandfather. A selfish and demanding wish, yet it was what he prayed for day and night.

That, and that Bulma could one day see that he had never meant to wound her.

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"Woman!" Vegeta called as he approached the training room. He tried to keep his voice low and measured, but it seemed the more he tried, the more his voice betrayed what he truly felt. "Wo—Bulma," he tried, his hand tugging open the door handle. "B—" But the room was dark and empty, the chains holding the punching bag still and untouched.

He took a deep, calculated breath, clenching and unclenching his fists. It took all his willpower not to howl out in anger. He had to keep reminding himself over and over that it was his fault that she was upset, for the moment he laid eyes on the deserted room, he knew exactly where she was.

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Eizo stared in stunned confusion at the wet mess of a woman that stood on his fourth story balcony. How she had reached such heights in the beating rain, and that confining little dress, was beyond him. But now was not the time for such questions. She was here, and that was all that mattered at the moment.

With no more hesitation, he pulled her soaking body to him and into his lavish apartments. Her face was pink with cold, her plump lips trembling. But Kami! How beautiful she was! The perfect way in which her stunning aqua locks clung haphazardly to her face. Even the slight redness around her eyes was perfect. But she had been crying, and was crying now, and it was time for comfort, not ogling over the mere sight of her.

He led her hunched form to the bed, sitting her down gently, and then he sat beside her. There was nothing sexual in what he did; in fact, that was the furthest thing from his mind right now. Certainly it was not that they were banished from seeing one another, for his letter had come nearly two weeks ago, and if it had upset her this much she would have come instead of sending the messenger.

"Bulma, please," he whispered, pressing his lips to her forehead. "Tell me your woes."

"I-I-I…" She took short, gasping breaths, her face buried in Eizo's rock hard robe-clad chest. "I cannot…cannot…"

"Cannot tell me?" he asked, forcing his voice to remain still. When had she kept secrets—His eyes fell to the floor and he sighed. Her name was Bulma, not Nyoko, and that had been the biggest secret of all.

"No, no," she whispered, pulling her head back and wiping her nose on her silken sleeve. He chuckled at the gesture; he loved her tomboyish ways almost as much as he loved her. "I cannot believe what has happened to me…"

"What has happened, my love?"

But instead of giving him the answer, she wrapped her arms around his thick neck and lowered him to his back. Pulling up her tight skirts, she straddled him, her mouth immediately clamped on his. He pushed her away almost roughly and climbed off the bed, leaving her confused and somewhat angry.

"Am I not good enough for you now?" she spat, rising from the crumpled sheets as well. And that was when she noticed it; the sheets were far too messed from their few seconds on the bed. And Eizo was still in his day clothes, so she could not have woken him from sleep. "You've found a new mistress already?" Suddenly she didn't have the stomach for a romp with her old lover.

"Don't you turn these events around on me, princess!" he hissed back, startling her. He had only ever raised his voice at her a few times in the long time they have known each other. And now it seemed he was always mad at her. The identity, the cancellation of their affair, and now this! "You have your king to share a bed with! And I have finally found love, Bulma! I, who have sprouted innumerable sweet words of poetry, gushing at the chance to love—I have found it and you shout at me!"

Bulma seemed frozen in terror for a moment, her lips still and straight, and then the most alarming thing happened. She began to laugh, throwing her head back and holding her stomach as if she would burst. Her eyes were watering again, but she was happy this time, or so it appeared. Eizo tried not to let his guard down; he kept his distance and watched her with careful eyes.

"Calm yourself, dear prince," she said, the laughter still behind her voice. She eased herself onto the bed and patted the spot next to her. Hesitantly he took a seat. "Forgive me. I have much on my mind as of late."

"No, forgive me," he sighed, curling his arm around her shoulders and pulling her gently towards him. "You came here seeking comfort and I could not deliver. Shall we start over?"

She laughed again, and this time he was able to enjoy it, breath it in almost like a lovely perfume.

"To what do I owe the honor of your visit?" he asked. Her eyes lowered suddenly and she shook her head.

"I need wordless comfort right now, prince," she whispered, her voice low and husky as she advanced on him, her pert breasts pressed hard against him.

He grabbed her wrists, and for a moment she thought he would reject her again, and then he calmly forced her on her back, whispering in her ear: "Do not call me prince, my limber queen."

"Then what shall I call such an expert?" she giggled, her breath become dotted with tiny gasps of mounting pleasure.

"My name," he breathed, pulling at the tough fabric of her soaking clothes that were clinging to her tight little body. After some rough tugging, Bulma finally offered her assistance, peeling the silk from her moist and hot form.

"Eizo," she cooed, lying back on his blue velvet pillows. How she loved this bed, how she had missed it. So much different from the bed she now slept in. "Eizo, come to me…" He obeyed, lying between her spindly legs, his lips pressed to her flat belly, kissing and suckling at the smooth clammy skin. She buried her fingers in his hair, pulling him almost violently to her face. "Who am I?" she demanded, her eyes narrowing viciously. For a split second Eizo believed she was angry.

"Bulma," he answered, dipping his head into the crook of her neck, to her sweet spot; her collarbone. "Bulma…" With one hand he was tearing off his loose garments, cursing silently to himself when buttons wouldn't work properly. "Bulma," he said again, finally getting his pants off. Without wasting a moment, she grabbed a hold of him, and shoved him fiercely into her, crying out in stunted pleasure; the friction seemed too much; the sadness consumed her. "B-Bulma," he breathed, his voice in the back of his throat. Oh, it seemed eons since they were last together. "Bulma…"

"Vegeta," she gasped, pressing into his lower back and meeting his thrusts perfectly.

But then he stopped, staring down at her, and she nearly choked on her fear.

Abruptly Eizo climbed off her and off the bed, snatching up his clothes.

"Vegeta?" he said, tugging on his pants. He jerked on his robe as if that were what he was upset with. "That is not the name of your husband, princess. Who else are you rolling around with?"

"Only my husband, Eizo, I swear," she said almost frantically, running to his side without care that she was completely nude. "That is why I came, Eizo. His name is not Yukio. His name is Vegeta, and we knew each other when I was a girl in my true kingdom. Please! You must believe this!"

Eizo stiffened at her touch, turning his shoulder to her.

"I betrayed my love for you, Bulma. I shared my bed with you only moments after she left, and these are the falsities you feed me?"

"Eizo, you must!" She was pleading now, dropped to her knees and pulling hysterically at his robe. "I tell nothing false, believe my words! He is a man named Vegeta! And I am with child and have never been more terrified in my entire life!" Her body collapsed on the cold floor; she was weeping.

"You are with child?" Eizo gasped, dropping to her side. He took off his robe and wrapped it around her crumpled, shivering form. The moment it passed her lips he knew what it could mean. "Who—"

"I do not know, my love," she whispered into the floor. "Your son may very well be growing inside me. Forgive me when I say I hope that is not true."

The words stung, but he knew she was right and it was for the best. That was the last thing their situation needed.

"Come." He lifted her off the floor and into his enormous walk-in closet. Not only did he have rows and rows of his finery, but gorgeous women's clothing as well, rich in color and soft to the touch. "We will dress and join my family at a late supper. Juri will be most gracious for your company."

"I wish—"

"You can and you must," he insisted, capturing her lips in that way only he could do; she would now do whatever he asked of her. "I have missed you so, princess…"

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"I know she is here," he said, stepping into the hall and out of the rain. The young servant seemed to tremble as he granted him entrance, not questioning the fact that he had come without a servant of his own. "Bring me to her and you shall be generously compensated."

"The Lady Nyoko?" the servant asked, just to be sure he was not mistaken. He would never betray his family.

"Yes, the 'Lady' Nyoko," he sneered, brushing past the servant and forging ahead without direction. He already knew that she would be in one of two places. He decided it best to seek her out in the less likely place; he would not admit, however, that discovering her in the arms of her lover would crush him substantially.

He rounded the corner, and came face to face with the guards of the banquet hall. The hum of voices beyond the door told him the king and queen were to supper. He did not care.

"I am sorry, sir," said one of the two guards, holding his staff over the entry. "I cannot grant you entrance without permission."

"My name is Vegeta Ouji, Prince of the Cold Empire. If I am not granted access immediately it will be your heads." The guards looked to one another, gulping loudly, then stepped aside. Though neither had even seen the prince, they knew that it must be he. They had heard many a story of his cruel nature, the way he made even the bravest of men tremble at the mere sound of his voice; he was definitely who he claimed to be.

And so they opened the doors.

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"We have so missed your company, Nyoko, since you have been wooed and wed," Queen Rina said, lifting her gem-stunned goblet in a toast to the visiting princess. The young Juri smiled sheepishly over at the woman she had idolized her entire life; oh how she missed her beautiful Tadao; she wanted nothing more right now than to pull Bulma aside and ask her what had gone wrong. "How are you taking to your new accommodations at the Cold Palace?"

"Very well," she said, taking a sip of the deep red wine. Her head buzzed luscious for a moment and she smiled despite her unsettled soul. This family did not deserve to bear witness to her woes. "I am adjusting far better than I believed I would."

"That is how it usually happens, as I try to explain to my daughter," she laughed, the icy mist of tears just behind her eyes. She had adored Tadao as well, and the presence of Nyoko made it all the more difficult to move on and accept that he would never marry their daughter. "Your husband and his father are treating you well and a part of the family?"

"Yes, well enough." I want them dead!

"That is wondrous news, my dear. I do hope your good fortune continues. Perhaps there will be news very soon of an heir to the throne."

"Yes," Bulma said, bowing her head slightly. "Perhaps." Under the table Eizo grabbed her hand and squeezed it lovingly. Both feared, and somehow knew, that this very well could be their last meeting together in this fashion. Vegeta would figure out soon enough that she was missing from the palace and right away he would know where she fled. Nothing good could come from this, but she was not sorry for having come.

"To—" But the queen was cut off as the doors to the entryway swung open. Prince Vegeta, in all his finery, came dashing in and right up to the table without being advised. No one expected such courtesies from him. "Why, Prince Vegeta. To what do we owe this visit?" Inside she was brimming with anger. No royal of any kingdom much liked the Cold Empire, and especially not its king and prince.

"It seems my silly young queen has forgotten her etiquette," he said, looking directly at Queen Rina, who could not withhold her sneer any longer. She turned away to her husband. "My palace has been in an uproar in her absence. I was not informed that she was coming to pay a visit to her good friends."

"Do I always need your permission, husband?" Bulma asked haughtily, allowing only him to see the fire in her eyes.

"You have been ill for many days, my dear," he said, narrowing his eyes sympathetically. "I would have gladly escorted you here."

"I have done very well on my own. But I do thank you for your excellent concern." She turned away and took a long gulp of wine. "Now, what were we discussing?"

The table was silently outraged and somehow frightened. To treat your master and husband in such a way was unheard of! Vegeta and Eizo alone were unaffected by her attitude.

"Princess," Vegeta began, but Bulma was already to her feet.

"Very well, prince!" she snapped, bowing graciously to the king and queen and princess. Eizo quickly stood with her and stole a kiss on the cheek. "I shall forever miss you, my love," she whispered in his ear so that only he could hear. His sad smile told her the feelings were returned. "Farewell my friends. I shall come to visit again, if my good husband permits me to. Farewell."

Vegeta was raging with anger by the time they reached the carriage.

"Say your harsh words now and be done with it," she said, crossing her arms and sitting back.

"You are with child, princess!" he whispered angrily; he would not have the driver hear their brawl. "Have you no respect?"

"I have plenty of respect for those who respect me," she countered, not daring to look at him. She refused to fall victim to his smoldering looks and delicious full lips. She reminded herself that her passion had been quelled and she was beyond angry with this man beside her.

"You are as impossible has you have ever been!"

"How convenient that you should know such things about me."

"You are trying my patience—"

"And you are trying my soul!" she cried, looking at him finally. "Leave me be!" He had his hands around her waist before she knew it, his lips pressed wonderfully to hers. Give in, give in, give in…"Please, sire," she whispered, pushing him back. "Do not harm me anymore. I am carrying your child. Let that be payment enough."

"But I do not wish—"

"And I did not wish to be captured from my kingdom, given to another, and then sold to yours. My heart barely beats, my prince. I am so angry with you. Do not let that anger turn to hatred."

Vegeta opened his mouth to speak, and then closed it again, saying nothing. He had been so afraid that she did hate him, but now that that was not the case, he could not press her any further tonight. Some day he would pay his debts to her. For now he would give her much needed space.

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---Chapter 9!! Well, well, well. Not much happened :P Ok, a little did. But more will happen later. This was a set-up chapter of sorts. :)

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Next time: A procession? Will the kingdom soon find out about the heir? And what of Bulma and Vegeta's relationship? How will she act around King Frieza now, knowing the truth?

THANK YOU Lollybear07 :D Beta's rule all! 


	10. Sweet Revenge

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"And I did not wish to be captured from my kingdom, given to another, and then sold to yours. My heart barely beats, my prince. I am so angry with you. Do not let that anger turn to hatred."

Vegeta opened his mouth to speak, and then closed it again, saying nothing. He had been so afraid that she did hate him, but now that that was not the case, he could not press her any further tonight. Some day he would pay his debts to her. For now he would give her much needed space.

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Bulma chuckled softly to herself, her hands folded neatly in her lap. She would wave courteously every now and then, and never did she even glance at her prince to her left. It was the royal procession, the introduction of the new queen to the kingdom. She now knew why it had been postponed for so long; he had only been known as Yukio to her (and Eizo, who knew the name Vegeta as well). What a horrid spectacle it would have been had she found out while perched high upon the carriage beside her husband.

And though her anger had quelled some since the lamentable event, she still believed he deserved her silence for quite a bit longer. What troubled her more than anything was the information, not he manner in which she came upon it. She had known Vegeta as a child, therefore he must know about her family and the kingdom she truly hailed from. But what and how to ask?

Honestly—though she would only admit it to herself and possibly her maid—Bulma was not mad at all. As a matter of fact, she was very pleased to finally have but a small morsel of knowledge. Surely her prince would offer her whatever other information she requested; it was the least he could do after all the pain he had intentionally caused.

"Lord," she said, startling her husband noticeably. He reached over and took her hand; she allowed this, though left her hand limp and unresponsive. "When we return to the palace, we shall have a long discussion. It is not optional."

"Woman—" he began, his voice commanding.

"Lord, I do not believe your king would very much like it if the kingdom should discover my true name and the manner in which I came to be here."

He was silent for the remainder of the procession.

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"I should like to know all information you possess," Bulma said, her slippered feet pacing the width of their grand bed chamber. She had already taken it upon herself to inform the servants that they would receive their dinner in their chambers tonight. And though the questions dangled at the tips of their tongues, no one said a word; the orders would be carried out. She doubted highly, however, that she would have the stomach for food when it did arrive. "You told me last night, after I discovered the truth in such a horrid way, that we knew each other as children. You laid out for me the plan your adoptive father conceived, and there was mention of a vicious Dark Princess, who you informed me is now dead, though you know not by what means. I assume that you suspect foul play on behalf of King Frieza."

Vegeta nodded, giving some gruff noise to show he was in fact listening.

"There were some crucial elements which you left out, my prince."

He looked up, unable for a moment to remember how his life had taken so many awful turns. And of course, his ever-present anger boiled. A prince such as he should not have to endure such humiliation.

"What were my parents' names? Did I have siblings? Suitors in line other than yourself? Why were you denied? Other than your lack of honesty, I see no flaws. And our relationship; how did I come to know you?"

"I know not your parents' common names," Vegeta said, his voice low and monotone. No matter his feelings, he would not show weakness and emotion in front of his queen. His pride prevailed over all, as it always had. Bulma secretly attempted to devise a plan in which to strip him of his pride. If she had been paying attention to anything but her anger at her current situation, she would have seen that her thoughts were as cruel and ego-driven as Akuma's. "Your family name, however, was Briefs. Your true name is Bulma Briefs, the only child of King and Queen Briefs, of the ancient Maruyama Empire."

It took all of Bulma's willpower to remain steady, her cold expression unchanged. Holy Kami! She now knew her full name and the name of her lost empire!

"And yours?" she asked, her curiosity getting the better of her.

"The Cold—"

"Your true empire, prince."

"The Saiyan Empire." How much lower his voice became as he said those words. Bulma knew not their meaning, and could never know how high of regard they were held in Vegeta's mind. His had been the oldest and most powerful of all empires, taken down at its peak by a raging lunatic tyrant, whose only advantage had been sheer numbers. "And no, princess," he said, taking his eyes off her. How he had missed that luscious aqua mane, "I was not your only suitor. But your father did not believe in suitors, as his before. Your kingdom was the only in history to not be based on marriages arranged for the purpose of power gain. That is what Frieza sought with our marriage; he received that tenfold after incorporating you into the Yon-Han Empire."

"What did my father believe in, Vegeta?"

He cringed noticeably at the mention of his name. He would have much rather been Yukio at this moment, ignorant of this information, and blissful with his new beautiful wife.

"Love…"

He had said it so low that Bulma barely heard.

"I wonder," she mused, taking a seat beside her husband on the bed, "had my father allowed me to know you, would my heart have grown for you the way it had begun to when you were merely Yukio, and not this vessel of knowledge."

"You knew me without his permission. Your…lust for training was fed by me…and by Frieza's selfish plans."

Suddenly his hands were in her lap, and she was slowly massaging his palms. And for the first time in his life he had neither words nor thoughts to accompany such an action. She was by far the most complex and confusing creature he had ever encountered.

"It seems I have a very difficult decision to make, my prince."

Vegeta looked up, but didn't say a word. Decision? What decision?

"It would be very simple for me to remain angry with you, and your father, and all those involved in my demise. It would be too simple, in fact, for me to allow that anger to infest my entire being and morph my soul into a blackened and hollow thing. For, my prince, my life has been on that road to destruction since as long as I can recall. I feared, and embraced, that fact every day of my life. Until…" She dropped Vegeta's hands, grabbing the thick bedpost as if for support. "Until I was forced into a marriage with a complete stranger whom I achieved the highest respect for in only a short while. I know not how this respect formed, or when it decided to change its course and seek the lighted path." She stood, looking into the shadowed depths of the expansive room. "I was on my way to happiness, my prince, when your unknown confession dropped me back into darkness…"

"Then what do you decide?" He knew it was inappropriate. He knew he should be at her side, as any good husband would be, and comfort his queen. He instead sat on their bed, his back straight, his ears perked and ready for any words that would come from her plump and delicious lips.

Paces away, Bulma sighed painfully and placed her hand on the armoire closest to her.

"I have chosen darkness at every turn in my life, Vegeta." Again he cringed. How odd that this moment would remind him of his first encounter with the Princess Bulma. For too long in his youth he had truly believed that exact moment in time was the beginning of something he had not felt since his life in the Saiyan Empire. "Darkness has been the best of friends to me and I embrace it now as surely as I ever have."

"And so you choose the easy road?" Try as he might, he could not keep his vicious tongue at bay.

"I am a warrior," she said, her voice so stern and definite that Vegeta raised his eyes, catching hers immediately. If only he had strength enough in his legs to stand and press her to him. "And I cannot recall a single moment in history when a warrior chose anything but the most difficult of plans, measures, and strategies."

Vegeta was now more confused than he had been at the beginning of the conversation.

"You are a simple and slow-witted prince, my love." She came around and stood before him. Her palms were pressed gently against his face before he was the wiser, her lips entwined with his.

"What is your decision?" he demanded, pulling away, with every cell in his body screaming at him to shut up and accept her wily actions.

"Oh prince," she sighed, easing herself onto his lap. "My most challenging road is one of brilliant light." He still did not understand.

"Don't speak to me in metaphor any longer, princess. You try my—"

"Very well. But I do not believe you have any patience to try." She kissed his lips once more before finally giving her most honest and true answer. "I choose to forgive you for all you have done, intentional and accidental, to bring me to this point in my life."

"It is not honorable to lie to your husband, princess."

"And it is also not honorable to disbelieve your wife when she speaks the truest words she possesses."

Vegeta leaned back and stared deeply into her cool and calm blue eyes. He found not a glimmer of doubt, and, to both their surprise, his lips curled into a full and genuine smile.

"What do you see at the end of your path, princess?"

"One must reach their worst before attempting to become better."

His smiled faded into a deep-set frown.

"Do not look at me in such a way, prince," she laughed, kissing his forehead and eyelids tenderly. "I only mean that we must, together as husband and wife, revenge our fallen families and give the Lord Frieza what he rightly deserves."

Instantly Vegeta's smile returned, curving ever more into an intense grin.

"You are truly amazing, Bulma," he breathed into her neck.

"Amazing enough to love?"

"I do not love, princess."

She dropped her eyes and turned her head away.

"I cannot feel what is not in my nature to feel. Accept me now for who I am, or never accept me at all."

"Surely I have said those same words at some point in my life. I too believed I was too cold and broken to love another. Forgive me when I say that I believe you have the strength and capacity to love. If you can learn to love, and not necessarily myself, then our relationship has accomplished something truly great."

"Woman," he sighed, pulling her tightly against him. "If there were love in my heart, if there was one woman in which I could feel such things for, she would be you."

"Very well, prince." She kissed his lips roughly, her fingers laced behind his head. "You win…for now…"

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A few weeks after the much-anticipated coronation of the new queen of the Cold Empire, another empire made an equally wondrous announcement. Prince Eizo was to marry a courtier by the name of Naomi, and all allied kingdoms in the area were invited. That included, of course, Bulma, Vegeta, and King Frieza. They had yet to R.S.V.P.

Two days after the pronouncement of Prince Eizo's marriage, the Cold Empire was abuzz with the news of an heir to the throne. Princess Nyoko would not be seen outside the palace once she began to show. And to prepare herself for such isolation, she spent countless hours away from the palace with only her husband to accompany her.

This behavior was most strange. The princess was seen many times exiting the palace long before dawn, and not returning again until well into the night. Any and all balls or galas in the area were not attended by the Cold Empire. Even King Frieza was busy, though with what no one could know.

It appeared as if the Cold Empire was a ghost.

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"Did you not hear me when I said the king and I share the same abilities?" Vegeta groaned, his back to Bulma, who seemed frozen in place a foot behind him. "If I can sense you so can he. Now try it again."

"Can't we poison him instead?" Bulma sighed, trudging back into the woods. This was, of course, only out of anger and frustration. Being the most powerful king can have its downfalls. Enemies and paranoia were the two highest on the list. Frieza never ate a morsel of food or took a sip of wine unless his food tester did first. Since his rise to complete power, he had gone through over sixty testers. He was not a well-liked king by many.

As the sun began to set over the cool gray mountains in the distance, Vegeta wondered if Bulma has given up and gone back to the palace without him. More than three hours ago she had gone into the woods, and was supposed to come back out after the length of time she chose and he did not know, so she could attack him. She had failed miserably the first five times, stepping on twigs or moving leaves or breathing too deeply. He had sensed and heard her immediately, pinning her to the ground the first few times to show his devotion to their plan.

So not to waste a moment of their day, Vegeta took to meditating while Bulma waited for the perfect moment to strike. He had thought he heard her several times before, only to see some rodent or bird exit the forest. He was growing increasingly tired of waiting by the second.

And then, faster than he thought possible, he couldn't breathe and his entire body was submerged in the pond he had been meditating in front of. Thin, yet extremely strong, arms encircled his torso, and for a moment he could not get free. His arms were useless at his sides and bound by the arms of his captor. His legs, however powerful, could not bring him to the surface no matter how hard he kicked. He only managed to swim side to side, making his problem ten times worse as they floated into a mass of heavy seaweed.

Soon enough his captor, his wife, would need air, and then they would get air. He relaxed his body and allowed himself to be taken hostage completely. When air was needed, they began to float skyward, only to be tugged back down.

Bulma's neck had somehow become entwined with the seaweed, cutting off her air passages even more. She released her husband, pushing him towards the surface. He would have none of that, however, and swam back towards her, cutting the angry plants with the dagger from his boots.

By the time they reached the top, Bulma had lost consciousness, her body limp and floating on the water. Immediately Vegeta pulled her from the water, shaking her wildly. He was no doctor! He didn't know how to help her, though even if there were a doctor, he would be of no assistance; medical attention was little more than voodoo, and there was no helping a drowned victim.

"Kami is punishing me!" Vegeta yelled at the sky, his wife clutched to his chest. It was not possible, he thought. She could not be dead. His life could not possibly get any worse. "No! You are not gone!" His fists clenched, Vegeta brought them down with angry force on his wife's frail-looking chest. To his complete amazement she shot up, choking out water madly.

"Well," she said, looking over at her stunned husband, "let's hope our attack doesn't involved water." She winced when his fist made hard contact with her arm. "What?"

"That was risky, Bulma! Don't ever do that again!"

Bulma's lips curled into an almost vicious smile. "Were you afraid for me, prince?"

"Quiet, princess."

"Very well," she laughed, standing up. "That water was wonderful." Before Vegeta was the wiser of her intentions, she was in the pond again, wading at the top.

"Woman!" Vegeta shouted, jumping in after her. He almost had her out again, when she was finally able to catch his ear.

"I am perfectly capable of swimming, Vegeta. I do not need you to protect me as if I were a child. Now take your hands off me."

He hesitated a moment, and then released her, climbing out of the pond. But he sat at the edge, watching her intently, as if she would drown again at any moment.

"Tell me, husband," she said, floating on her back, the cool refreshing water circling all around her tired and worn body. "Were you able to anticipate my attack? Or did you allow me to propel you into the water?"

He turned his head away.

"As I thought," she laughed. "I told you I could do it, Vegeta. Please, next time, have some faith in your wife."

"You may be improving, woman," he said, turning back to her, "but you are no where near ready to carry out the tasks necessary for this plan to work. The king will not be at the edge of a pond when we come for him, and he will be able to fend you off. Together we can disable him, but only if you do exactly what I say and make not one mistake. It could cost us our lives, and after our marriage, I refuse to surrender to death."

"You have been with many women," Bulma pointed out. She swam to her husband, allowing him to pull her from the water and into his lap. "Why am I unique?"

"If you do not know the answer to that question, my queen, then you are not as brilliant as you profess to be."

"This moment," she said, hugging Vegeta close to her, "is the single greatest in my entire lifetime. I thank you…Prince Vegeta…"

He did not know how to respond. He never knew how to respond. And so he simply hugged her back and prayed to Kami that their plan would work.

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---Chapter 10!!! Yay! Sorry it took me so long to post a new chapter, but I have been busy, busy, busy. First with finals at school, and then Christmas, and then New Year's, and then catching up with people at home that I haven't seen in a while. But finally I'm done and I hope it was worth the wait :)

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Next time: It's so secret even I don't know! :P

Lollybear07 is the best beta! :D 


	11. Prince Trunks

Last time:

"This moment," she said, hugging Vegeta close to her, "is the single greatest in my entire lifetime. I thank you…Prince Vegeta…"

He did not know how to respond. He never knew how to respond. And so he simply hugged her back and prayed to Kami that their plan would work.

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"What can you tell me about them?" Frieza asked, resting his wine goblet on the arm of his chair.

"Not much, sire," replied the trembling scout. "I followed them, night and day, as instructed. But, alas, I lost track. They were too swift and sensed my presence."

"Well," he sighed, "then I shall just have to find a more worthy scout. You are dismissed."

The middle aged man scuttled from the room, just happy to have come out of his meeting alive. As he exited, he passed the king's personal servant and most trusted advisor, Goro, who seemed in very high spirits. He was of the highest ranking a servant could be, possessing titles unbefitting of a servant. But as King Frieza'a word was law, no one could say much.

"The day is gloomy, Goro," snapped the king, his foul mood intensified by his servant's smile. "What gives you occasion to smile and mock my temperament?"

"The day is sunny, lord," he said with a deep bow. "I saw not a cloud and I have brought its rays inside for you to enjoy."

"What sun?"

"I did as you told me to, sire. I followed the scout and saw him fail, though he was brave and did what he could. The Lady and your son have been romping in the forest. Punching and kicking and biting."

"They train?" He raised an eyebrow. So the fire of the young Bulma had not been extinguished over time and despair. He was exhilarated by the news. A challenge was always a blessing in his eyes, one reason for choosing Vegeta as his son.

"Most diligently. And until neither breath or thought of breath."

"And their goal?" He could feel the corners of his mouth twitch for want of a smile.

"You, my lord."

"Brilliant!" he cried, clapping his hands together.

"Sire?"

"Yes, Goro?"

"Forgive my questions, but what celebration is in this news? Surely it is not good that your son and new daughter are plotting your demise."

"On the contrary, my friend, it is wondrous news."

Goro frowned. Ever since Bulma had come to the palace his faith in his lord had been waning. There had always been talk of his corruption and rudeness, but Goro always brushed them away as rumors. But now, the cover pealing back, he was beginning to see his lord for who he really was. And he was not happy.

"How so, lord?"

"Ah now, that is for my thoughts alone. Run along, Goro, and see your wife. I hear that you have not seen her in some time. Bring her new dresses and give your children toys, but hurry back within three days, for I have much work for you."

Goro bowed and swept from the room, a deep grimace on his face. He wanted to be sick. His lord was nothing now. No great man, no king, not even a noble beggar. He was dirt and worse.

"Fair thee well, sire," he whispered. _For your table of enemies grows._

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Bulma huffed and planted herself unceremoniously on their bed. She slipped off her wig and tossed it aside, allowing her aqua curls to fall and frame her face.

"I am fit now, prince," she groaned. "In a few short months I will be too large, but now I am fit. Let us go forth before he catches wind."

"The walls have ears," he scolded, rolling his eyes. "And no, princess, you are not fit. Were anything to happen to our child you would be devastated. I say there will be no strike until we have our heir. And not a moment sooner."

"And if I proceed without you?"

"Then you are a fool." He came forward, touching her hair gently. "Should I prepare your funerary arrangements now, wife? Are you that eager to die without cause?"

"What coarse words." She stood and rang for Aneko. "You may leave now, husband. I must prepare for supper."

He mock-bowed, then stormed from the room.

"What reason does she have to be angry with me?" he hissed, trudging down the hall to his training chamber. "I protect her and she barks as if I've struck her. Foul, wicked wench!"

He was about to turn the corner, when he sensed someone's presence. He cut on his heals, his sword out, its tip pressed perilously into his father's servant's cheek.

"Goro," he sighed angrily, and lowered his weapon. "I nearly killed you. What reason have you to sneak around the palace? Speak!"

Goro was unshamed and bowed, leaving no cause to question his loyalty.

"May I walk with you, sire? I have need to discuss a matter, yet I fear these walls."

Vegeta nodded and they proceeded down the hall and into Vegeta's private study, positioned as far from any of Frieza's rooms as he could get.

"What matter, drudge? And make it quick. I have matters before supper and you waste my time."

"Forgive me, lord, but I must confess something first."

Vegeta gave a wave of his hand.

"I have kept loyal to this house all my life. I once believed our king was a right and good king."

"Do you mean to tell me your tribute sways, good man? What a heartache for my father." And behind his scowl he was beaming.

"I will be brief," he said, lowering his eyes. Perhaps he was making a horrible mistake. But his honor was at stake, and that was something he treasured more than his life. He would not go to the grave dishonoring himself or his family. "Our lord, the king, had reason to believe that yourself and your bride were up to ill things. He sent a scout to track you, and then myself to make sure he did his job."

"He failed no doubt," Vegeta scoffed, laughing just a little.

"Yes, sire."

"And you triumphed?"

"Yes, sire, but—"

"I require no explanations, Goro. Continue."

"I delivered the information to the king. I told him of your plots and plans, and he was overjoyed!"

"Yes, he would be, wouldn't he?"

"I beg your pardon, sire."

Vegeta narrowed his brow in question, then burst into laughter. Goro was horrorstruck and took several steps back.

"Sire?"

"The king has not told you his plans? Or his misdeeds to myself and my queen?"

Goro shook his head.

"No, I suppose he wouldn't. You are a lowly servant, after all, and it would not be proper."

"And these plans—"

"Are you a woman, Goro!" Vegeta howled with laughter. "Gossiping like this I might be inclined to check under your robe for breasts."

"I would make a disreputable woman, lord."

"Yes, that is true."

"Sire?"

"Ah, the plots," he sighed. "I think I should have you beaten for such a suggest—"

"Lord!"

"You are trying my kindness, drudge!" he hissed. "If I say you should be beaten then that is law. I will tell you nothing, for you are simple and cannot be trusted as the king's most trusted. But," he continued, stopping Goro mid-breath, "I shall be gentle with you. You have one chance to prove your loyalty to me and me alone. If I hear of you counter-plotting with my father then I will have your neck and the necks of your family. Am I clear?"

"I live you serve you, lord."

"Good. Now leave."

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Life in the Cold Empire was calm and quiet, a gentle buzz coursing through the walls. Things were happening, secret things, and yet the royals smiled and behaved as much as they could stand it.

Bulma's belly was growing at a rapid pace, or so she felt, and soon she was too large to train, or even to sit at her desk and write. New dresses were made and fitted to her ever-growing form. She feared she would burst if she grew another inch. But she still had a few months to go and grow, and so the palace, and the kingdom, held its breath in wait.

She was now always uncomfortable, and constantly restless, having begun her confinement to the palace and its enclosed gardens. She was to have no visitors aside from the king, her husband, her nurse, and a select few who were permitted to visit the castle.

"This is unbearable!" she groaned, tugging at the heavy fabric of her gown. The pins Aneko had just put in tinked to the floor and she let out some choice curse words.

"Be still, child! Or I shall never finish this dress!"

"What's the point? I will only out-grow it as I did the one before it, and the one before that. I should simply wear dressing gowns and slippers, and stay shut up in my room, for I get just as good now."

"I take it you were never informed of what a mother-to-be must do?" Aneko laughed. "Ah, my beautiful daughter." She rose, pins in hand, and kissed Bulma on the forehead. "It is for the good of your heir that you confine yourself. Do you not wish him to be healthy?"

"You cannot know what I feel," she continued, seeming to ignore her nurse's words. "Quickly. Finish this dress and then I wish to rest. I am weary."

"As I am," Aneko murmured under her breath, then bent back down to finish the sewing.

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Vegeta had never before been so confused. His wife was a hailstorm of emotions, and he always seemed to be caught in the crossfire. He craved her as much as he always had, but kept his distance. Both for her sanity and her health. He cared not for royal rules that he should not touch her. She was his wife, his queen, and as such he would do as he pleased.

"What news from the nurse?" he asked, not looking at her. He was furious with her behavior.

"I should not have the child before two months," Bulma replied with heat. "Though it appears that the child wishes to come sooner and we may very well have an heir within the month."

"Perfect."

"Yes, lord."

He turned to leave, but, at the least minute, his anger got the better of him and he spun on his heel, advancing on her with fire in his eyes. He grabbed her roughly by the shoulders, her belly between them, and forced her down on the bed. It took him a moment to realize that she was submitting to his outburst, at which time he released her.

"Have I upset you lord?"

"Very much, Princess."

"In what way, lord?"

"Stop with the pleasantries, _lady_. You speak them only to irritate me and I demand to know why!"

"I carry your child," she sighed. "I bend at your entrance, I follow at your exit. I am your bed-fellow, your mostly obedient wife and queen, and all of this I do against my will." She paused a moment, gauging his reaction. He remained firm and narrow-eyed. "Does this explanation serve its purpose?"

"Very well," he fumed. And this time he really did leave the room.

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Dripping wet and wailing with lungs of steal, Prince Trunks Ouji came into the world. Aneko, being handed the child by the midwife, wrapped him in cloth and wiped his face. Bulma lied on the delivery bed, straight-backed and waiting to be handed her son, the newest prince of the Cold Empire. She was tired, but nothing compared to what most women went through in birth. All of her rigorous training was showing splendid results.

"Let me have him, nurse," Bulma sighed, holding her arms out. Aneko placed the child in the crook of her arms, his head resting comfortably on her breast. He was fast asleep within moments. "So quiet now," she whispered, "after such a powerful entrance. I think he should be a handsome and worthy king."

"Very much so, child," Aneko agreed. She brushed some wet, aqua hair from Bulma's face, unable to mask her deeply etched grin. "I do see some features of his father, Vegeta, in him. Yet such a curious color of hair."

"Ah yes, the murmurs it will create."

"But he has your eyes, my sweet. He will be as strong and determined as his mother."

"One should hope so."

Hours later, after the sun had already set, Vegeta was finally able to view his new son. All throughout the day he'd caught whispers of the boy's strength and full lungs, of his lavender hair and mother-blue eyes. He possessed his hard chin and prominent nose. He had all the makings of a king, and he was without a doubt Vegeta's son.

"Such a small thing," were the first words from his mouth after Aneko had brought him in and placed him in Bulma's arms.

"Have you never seen a baby before, lord?" Bulma's mood had changed substantially since last they spoke. Only yesterday they had gotten into a tiff in the gardens, where Bulma stormed off, vowing she would cut him from ear to ear by the end of the week. "They are quite small and helpless. I believe you were one once."

"That I was," he replied, his voice stern and unwavered by the sight of his child, a being he and his wife created not one year ago. It still seemed strange to him that he now had offspring. The idea, the plan, it had always been there, lurking behind his and his "father's" every move. But now, to see the infant, cradled and asleep against its mother, it brought a whole new meaning to his life. Not that much would change. For the first years of Trunks' life, Vegeta would hardly lay eyes on him. He would be raised by nurses, only to be viewed by his parents. Once he reached his fourth year he would begin to filter into the royal court, dressing and—hopefully—acting like a true prince.

No, the new meaning was the permanent connection he and Bulma now shared. No matter what they would always have Trunks, their son, binding them together. They were married, bound by law, but that meant nothing to either who saw major flaws in tradition. This, however, was something even Bulma could not ignore.

"When are we to see him again?" Bulma asked, keeping an expert demeanor, though Vegeta saw the sheen to her eyes.

"You must rest now," the midwife said, taking the baby from her arms. "In two months time, I think, you will be fit enough for court and leave of the palace. I think then you can see the prince."

"Two months?" she whispered after the midwife was gone. She eased herself onto the bed, feeling faint.

"Wife?"

She looked up, a sudden anger behind her face.

"We will strike before then," she said, leaving no room for discussion.

"Very well." He bowed and backed towards the door. "Oh, and wife. We have a new ally."

And before she could ask questions, he was gone.

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I know I took **FOREVER** with this story, but I have been busy, and had writer's block. I sort of forgot about it and almost gave up, but recently I decided to pick it up again. I hope everyone likes it (still). I really just needed to finish it, to say that it was done. I love this story so I couldn't just let it hang forever.

REVIEW!


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